Thinking out loud: Some things hit too close to home

 

I’ve been in a pretty mellow mood tonight; people are literally disappearing to the left and right of me.  It’s bothering me, and parts of me are both sure and unsure why.

Saturday morning I was at the local gossip shop (for a haircut) and my neighbor-of-sorts Jim (who lives 3 floors below me and is the eyes & ears of our apartment building) was there, and asked me if I knew where Vanessa had moved to.  (Vanessa is my next door neighbor, a nice but very shy woman who’s lived across from me since 2000.)  I laughed & said “Jim where do you get your info?  She didn’t move anywhere, I think I’d know if she did.”  Jim said “ok, ok”.  I decided right then & there, as soon as I got my haircut I was going to come straight home, knock on Vanessa’s door, say hi and properly introduce myself.  My god, why did I wait this long?  We’ve lived a couple feet apart for 12 years, often I’d hear her tv when I was coming or going and I’d think “I should really make an effort to be friendlier to her.” 

So, after my haircut I stopped at the drugstore to pick up some items & came straight home.  I walked up to her door, knocked, no response.  Put my ear to the door, no sounds from within.  I don’t know what I was thinking, but I carefully tried the doorknob.  The door swung right open, revealing a completely bare apartment.  Her keys and a receipt for carpet cleaning lay on the kitchen counter.  Vanessa, you were a good neighbor & I’m going to miss you.

That was Saturday; the following day, I’m outside reading on my patio when I hear someone buzz my apartment.  It’s the local police, they’re trying to locate Dr. Steveson, my neighbor on the other side.  (I’ve written about him before, a psychologist in his late 50s, friendly but quiet, kept to himself.)  Apparently he called the hospital Friday night complaining of chest pains, was admitted that night but released himself Saturday.  The hospital had been doing a follow-up but was unable to reach him.   The police entered his apartment and found his body, he died in there sometime Saturday.

 

The medical examiner’s SEALED notice is across Dr. Steveson’s front door

So earlier tonight, I am sitting here playing on the computer & watching the news, someone knocks on my door.  It’s the deceased doctor’s brother-in-law.

He said “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you but did you know your neighbor here?”  I said yes, he lived beside me for several years.  He said “I’m his brother-in-law.  I was married to his sister, but she died some years ago.  Me and my daughter, we’re his only kin.”  I said hello and I was sorry for his loss.  He said “Thanks, but we haven’t talked to the man in 7 years.”   

He went on to say “He never married, no kids. He lived with his mom until she died, then he moved in here.  The guy was a pretty odd duck for being a head doctor… were you friends with him?”  I said no.  He said “I’m not surprised, he was hard to know.  Did you see his place?  It’s a pigsty—when I knew him he took 3-4 baths a day.  Smoked like a chimney too, had triple bypass surgery 5-6 years ago but couldn’t give up the weed.”   (I knew the doc was a heavy smoker, when he passed me in the hallway he reeked badly of it; and when they found his body, the walls were streaked with tar & nicotine.)

He said “Well, they contacted me, don’t know how they got my name but I told ‘em, haven’t seen or talked to him in years. After his sister passed, my daughter tried to talk to him but gave up.  So am I responsible for clearing out his apartment?  What about his car, do I have to take care of that too?”  I told him I didn’t know, but I’m sure he couldn’t be held liable for anything.  Well, unless he wants the man’s estate, whatever that may be.  He said “Who wants any of that stuff?”  He thanked me and left.

.         .         .

So I’ve been sitting here tonight, thinking about this poor man who had no one in his life, and no one to mourn his loss.  His car is still sitting outside, parked next to mine.   And I can’t help but make comparisons between us.  Never married—no kids, lived alone.   I always saw my living here as one chapter in my life, certainly not the final one.  I’m sure the Doc didn’t either. 

To my former neighbors on the left & right of me, I hope they both find themselves in happier places.

What do the simple minded folk do? (Well, if you really want to know...)

 

A couple months ago on Facebook, my friend Rebecca (okay, she’s more like a second cousin) wrote “You are never too cool or too successful to answer a 3 year old’s toy phone”.

People put a lot of so-called wisdom on Facebook, most of which is lame crap, but I liked Rebecca’s quote; for some reason it stuck with me.  So recently, when my sister Shawn told me how much my 7 year old niece Sophia still enjoyed watching a corny video I made 4 years ago about quitting smoking (because of some goofy mugging I did for the camera), I was really surprised--and very flattered.  And I decided that when it comes to Sophie, maybe my simple minded video-making days weren’t so far behind me after all.

This time ‘round I tried doing something a little more “7 year old girl who enjoys dressing up as a princess” oriented, so please keep that in mind if you decide to watch the video below.  (And for the record, I wasn’t planning on sharing this with anyone besides my sister and my niece, but Shawn made such a nice fuss about it… heh heh! 

(One more thing--because I borrowed some copyrighted music for my five minute masterpiece, YouTube may not allow the video to be played on my teepee and provide a link instead.  They’re fussy that way; but so far it seems to be working okay.)

Okay, enough with the jibber-jabber; on with the show!

You say potato, I say toboggan; you say tomato, I say slumgullion... let’s eat!

 

Sometime in the early 90s, after I’d been living in the big city for a year or so, one of my coworkers invited me to lunch & I declined, saying I needed to go to Kaufmann’s and buy a toboggan.  I’ll never forget the reaction I got—“are you serious??”  I said yes, sure.  Winter was coming and I needed one.  He said “I’ll believe it when I see it.”  (Wow, really?)

Later that afternoon, he came over to my desk—“Okay, where is it?”  When I held it up, he said “Huh?  You bought a ski cap?”   And that’s when I learned that some of the words I used back home weren’t necessarily common ones here.  Oh, people got a big kick out of it—they knew I was from a rural area south of the city & tortured me for it:  “You really call a ski cap a toboggan?  Give us some more hillbilly words!”    (That was twenty years ago, and as I recently discovered, it’s not over yet.)

Last night, I stopped at the corner market/deli on the way home from work & saw Mike (the owner) behind the glass counter wrapping up the salads and lunchmeats.  (It was almost 7pm, his closing time.)  I pointed at one container and said “Is that slumgullion?”  Mike said “What are you looking at?  The capicola?”  I replied “No, that red macaroni over there” and he said “Oh!  That’s mac n’ beef, what’d you call it again?”   I said “Well, um...slumgullion. Pretty much the same thing.”  He said “Never heard it called that.  You want some?”   (No thanks—but he just inspired me to cook a pot of the stuff for tomorrow!)

When I was a kid, my mom would say “Doug, why don’t you chop up a big onion for me” & I’d say “What are you making, potato soup?”  (One of her specialties) and she’d say, “no, slumgullion.”   Ooh!   A mixture of ground beef, celery, onions, pepper, tomato juice and macaroni—she’d make an army-sized pot of it (for her ravenous army of six kids) and we’d wolf it down like there was no tomorrow.  

I’ve tried making it on my own, but it always seems to lack something special.  (Mom, I’m guessing.)  I’ve seen some recipes for it online, but I’m always surprised how much the ingredients can vary per cook.   Anyway, the thing is—I’ve been making my OWN version of slumgullion now for several years & I think it’s pretty damn good.  (Around a dozen years ago, while in the dentists office thumbing through an old Readers Digest, I stumbled across a 1940 recipe for “Grandmas’s Sloppy Joes”.  I committed it to memory & made a pot, but mixed in the leftovers with some cooked macaroni and Voilà! 

Not my Mom’s Slumgullion 

1. Brown 1 LB ground beef & one large chopped onion –OR- two smaller ones; drain. 

(Don’t be afraid there’s too much onion, everytime I make this my first thought is “Why don’t I make this more often?” and my second thought is always “Wish I’d added more chopped onion”)

2.  Stir in 1 can ‘Campbells Cream of Celery Soup’, 1/3 cup ketchup, 2 tablespoons Worchestershire Sauce & 1/4 teaspoon black pepper.  Stir it up good, cover & set it on very low heat (Warm).

3.  Boil 1 cup (uncooked) macaroni to desired softness, drain, plop the pasta back in the pot—add in the soup mixture from the first pot.  Cover & put on low heat and let it heat together for a couple minutes.   You’re done!

(By the way, as much as I love this stuff it’s even better with some VERY crusty bread—that makes all the difference.  I usually heat up a can of green beans too, just to soften the guilt a little from all that carb-on-carb action.)

.         .         .

Well, if you’re scratching your head right now & thinking “Did I really just read some hillbilly’s recipe for Hamburger Helper?”  I don’t blame you—but take it from a single guy (and former Hamburger Helper expert), this concoction tastes a whole lot better.  And on a cold, rainy Saturday like today where you want something hot to eat, but you can’t really cook & you don’t feel like going out…this works.        

Four weddings and no funeral--I hope it stays that way (‘cuz I don’t have a thing to wear)

 

Two days ago while chatting with my sister Shawn via email, she threw this fun message at me:

On an unrelated note, Shannon called here last night very excited that she and Charlie are engaged.  She wants to be married in July and instead of waiting till next year, she thinks they want to do it July 14, seven days after her brother Michael’s wedding.  She says it will be small, 50 people.  And Jim's cousin who is getting married next month?  Sandy’s daughter? Sandy's other daughter just got engaged too and plans to marry this year as well.

(FYI, Michael & Shannon are my sister’s husbands adult kids from his first marriage.)  Anyway, when I read this email I shuddered and whispered “There but for the grace of God…”  because the thought of having to attend 4 weddings in the space of a few weeks… oh the horror.

For the record, I don’t see myself being invited to any of these & that’s fine; I always assumed it was a ‘man thing’ though, abhorring weddings--but a couple weeks ago when Shawn first brought all this up, I exclaimed “Poor Jim!” and my sister said "What ‘poor Jim’, he lives for these things!”  Really?  Fine, I’m a social misfit then, because it’s been years since my last one & I aim to keep it that way!

 

My friend Carolyn & myself at our friend Elisa’s wedding some years back; don’t let my smile fool you, for six months the blushing bride sent me weekly reminders promising certain death if I didn’t show

Funerals on the other hand… there’s no getting out of ‘em.  And forgive me for sounding selfish or morbid, but the thought just hit me yesterday, that I hope no one I know dies anytime soon—mainly because I don’t own a single wearable suit!  And I have no desire to get fitted for one while I’m trapped in this tubby body my brain cells call home.

How did it get to be this way?   (No, not my overweight self—I know how THAT happened.)  How is it that I don’t own any formal attire?  Back when I landed my first ‘computer job’ in 1990, a business suit was a job requirement.  By the mid-90s, I owned several of them (and I still have a shoebox full of old dry cleaning receipts to prove it).  I even became a ‘suit-expert’; if another guy was walking down the street in my direction I could tell with a glance if he’d bought that navy wool at Men’s Warehouse (ah, just another mofo like me) or Brooks Brothers (ooh, he’s higher up on the food chain). 

 

My ID badge when I worked as a computer consultant at the Allegheny Dept of Aging; I’d just gotten my first Joseph A. Banks suit & felt like I was playing with the big boys

 

I guess around the same time the dress code began relaxing at the start of the 21st century, I found less & less reasons to have my closet stuffed with these corporate get-ups (and more & more reasons to only shop for Dockers and short sleeve sportshirts).  Why replace that pinstripe with the shiny seat if you don’t have to?   And this light gray one has worn elbows, and that navy suit from Banks had a mind of it’s own—it somehow grew smaller and got way too tight around the stomach & shoulder blades.  I wound up giving them all away, save for one (an awkward-fitting steel blue that I wasn’t even that fond of in the first place, but had the distinction of being the last one purchased, and the least worn).   It lurks about here somewhere still, but I don’t see myself in it again for a long time; the last guy who wore it was 40 lbs thinner than me.  God, I miss him.

So, for the time being at least, I’m just going to keep my chubby fingers crossed and pray that my friends & loved ones are healthy and safe and remain living while I’m in this chubby state, and don’t put me through the embarrassment of having to purchase a fat man’s suit anytime soon.  

I mean, that’s the least they can do, right?   

As I consider joining the Amish, Sophie builds a robot

 

Last week my 7 year old niece Sophie and her first grade class were given a project; using items from around their homes, they were to each build a robot.

I thought Sophia did a fine job here (the kid was thrilled because hers was the only one in her class that could actually speak, heh heh) and I also thought the ‘mini-Slinky’ arms and ‘snack pack Pringle chips’ feet were the perfect touches.  It even has a working calculator on it’s back—might as well make this thing useful!  

I couldn’t help but be reminded of a similar project I had to do when I was her age—our class was building a prehistoric exhibit and we were each instructed to build a dinosaur.   (I remember most of the kids used Play-Doh or modeling clay, but one boy in our class arrived that morning with his father & a life-size pterodactyl made from paper mache, hanging from wires, which made the rest of us kids look at our own concoctions with some mild disgust.)   ANYWAY, that was shortly after the Mesozoic Era, in 1968.  Nothing like these 21st century kids today.

I suppose I’ve been feeling a little sensitive to technology lately, as I recently purchased a new laptop and have been going thru an annoying learning curve.  (Dammit I miss that Windows Vista Photo Editor!)   Even the new keyboard (with the ‘soft-touch keys’) is cramping my style. And don’t even get me started on the LED backlit screen (it’s like staring at a light bulb while you type). 

Around the same time that I got this infernal contraption, I watched a 2 hour special on PBS “American Experience” about the Amish.  It’s nothing that I didn’t already know or haven’t seen before (well, I did take for granted that all Amish were farmers, which was the case until 1950 or so, now only half of them own farms; the rest work as tradesmen or in factories).  But listening to them talk about their way of life, as we’re shown images of horse-drawn buggies, kitchen woodstoves and clotheslines hanging with the morning wash, I couldn’t help but feel a yearning for their simpler way of life; oh I know it’s a harder existence, but is the gizmo-laden one we have now really such an easier one?

 

I bet the new ipad is the last thing on these ladies minds!  But then again, they’re a bit limited in what they can wear, read or listen to; and I’m not too keen on the fact that the menfolk have to sport those Abraham Lincoln-type beards either

 

Well, as I sit here silently cursing this new Toshiba keyboard (the space-bar is only 3/4 the size of my old one and everything is half an inch to the left and I KNOW, we should all have such problems) I guess I’ll take a break and see if I have something I can pop in the microwave.  Weren’t we supposed to have robots by now that do the cooking for us?