Weekend, How Do I Love Thee?

Let me count the ways. When you only get half as many as 'normal' people, they become all the more dear. Right now I'm kicking off mine by making a grilled cheese sammich with dill pickle and red onion (an extremely quick, meatless and temporary fix for a cheeseburger craving, BTW) and drinking a large glass of Montepulciano d'Abruzzo. How great is it when you are told 'hey, you've got leftover wine to finish'? The bottle was hiding behind the skim milk all week, and Tim reminded me it was back there. So it isn't as nice as freshly opened/breathed, but I'm not going to be picky. It's alcohol. It's Friday.

Plans for the weekend? Absolutely none. Except for one, and I'm not even going to write it on a 'to do' list, lest I ruin the possibility that it might get done. And that is to clean out ONE closet in the house. Just one. Any of them. They all need help. I was thinking of the guest bathroom closet. There are probably long expired meds in there that need to be pitched, and everything could use some serious organization. No painting, nothing creative, nothing that requires a lot of energy. I don't seem to have energy to spare on weekends. Weekends are for getting energy BACK. The life-sucking institution that is my employer pretty much takes it all away.

I sometimes wonder how many years I can continue to do my job. Most times I speculate I could do it until my 60's. On a really good day, my 70's. Other times when the plantar fasciitis flares up, or I'm at the end of a long stretch wondering if I will ever know life without grinding fatigue, or some twat of a nurse or fellow employee has dissed me again: I could flush this down the toilet today. In my more bitter moments, I conclude I'm only here because I'm healthy and able, and it prevents other people from having to be in my place. In a really bitter recent moment, it occurred to me that I have to be healthy and able to live long enough to be around to do this job, AND to clean out the homes/oversee the disbursements of the worldly possessions of the preceding generations of both sides of my family.

Then my thoughts turn to our own stuff. We're not exactly Tibetan monks in that regard. We've got crap. Lots of it. I feel like we should start paring down now, because I don't want succeeding generations to some day be wishing my stuff/house/unmade decisions would just go away. Not that anyone around here has been thinking THOSE thoughts of late (we're tentatively going up to Frankenmuth for more boxing/sorting Sunday or Monday. Again). And then I think about wills. We really should get those done once and for all. Funeral plans? Probably wouldn't hurt to get some plans solidified there, too. Seriously. I sometimes wonder if I've thought a little too much about death/end of life decisions in the last 8 months or so. If not death, the final disbursement of all the stuff accumulated during life.

So maybe the act of cleaning out ONE single closet will be a small step toward making someone else's burden lighter later. And hell, I might just enjoy the results myself.

It also wouldn't hurt to take a good, hard look at coming up with some new and creative hiding places for those critical documents and some of my jewelry this weekend. The recent burglarizing of Chris and Lindsey's home has gotten us really thinking about what could happen if someone broke in. While we have an alarm system, it's not a complete deterrent. We don't think something like this could not happen to us.

Last weekend (which for me would be the one two weeks ago) does not seem like a mere 14 days ago. For one thing, it was warm. Like it should be about now. There were spring peepers singing in the swampy area behind our house. The Super Moon was rising Friday and Saturday evenings. We were going to a Lenten fish fry at a nearby Catholic church recommended by a coworker, and talking with people we didn't know. I've got my strong opinions about the Catholic faith, but when it comes to fish fries and people getting together for food and fellowship...hell yeah, I'm all over that. We were going out for drinks (Bell's Hopslam tapped out of a firkin, and Founders' Kentucky Breakfast Stout) on a Friday night to one of our favorite restaurants (French Laundry). We were acting like normal people, sitting at the bar, playing with our smart phones.

Then we delivered our promised Christmas present to mom in the form of wining and dining in the Leelanau Peninsula. I like to think my palate is still evolving, and if I like it, it's probably/possibly good. I don't know what it was, but I tasted more Michigan wines I liked that day than probably any other. It's taken a couple decades, but maybe they have finally arrived. We hit Left Foot Charley, Ciccone, Mawby, 45 North, Circa, and Black Star Farms wineries before finally having dinner at La Becasse. Chef Guillaume Hazael-Masieux even made an appearance twice to see how we (and other diners) were enjoying ourselves. I think we'll be visiting that area in March again, because without all the tourists of the color, ski or summer seasons, every employee seemed a lot more welcoming and talkative. The lack of crowds, and the enthusiasm for the growing food and wine scene in that area was a delight all day.

Of course mom enjoyed all this personal attention. And I think we know what we'll be doing for a Christmas gift next year.

But one thing I noticed is that she really seems to have aged more in the last year or so. I'm sure the deaths of a close friend and all her remaining family have had much to do with that. I really don't know who's been telling her she does not look like she's 70 (she has brought that up quite a number of times lately), but to me she looked every day of it when she was struggling to get in and out of the vehicle and walking around with us that Saturday. It occurred to me much, foolishly, later that I should have been standing right behind her each time she had to climb in the car. Even more foolishly, days later Tim suggested we should have just had her sit on the other side of the car so she could lead with her stronger leg to get in. She had the most half-ass (and probably dangerous) way of climbing in that seemed to put her at risk of twisting something or falling. You would think I would be constantly watching out for falls, given I have parents-in-law in their 80's, and an ill coworker who needs a cane and constantly scared the hell out of us (most times belatedly) while she was on the job. We recently witnessed someone trip and fall right in the middle of church. I suppose I really need to be a lot more mindful of being close by and ready to catch someone if they do fall. I have not gotten into that caregiver mode yet. I guess I need to get with the program.

Time for another glass of wine...