The Kindness of Strangers

I seem to be walking under a bad moon.

Lately, I've finally got serious about getting healthy. I've been walking and eating right. Last week I went on the family vacation and actually behaved myself. I walked, swam and tried to eat within reason. And most difficult, I rarely drank. I got back actually losing a pound or two. Unfortunately, I also seemed to catch a bad case of sciatica. I've never had back problems before and frankly - it's kicking my ass. I continue to try and exercise but it's frankly torture as my right leg is a mess with pain.

Despite this, I've really been trying to focus on positive. Since looking like hell on vacation, I've made sure to always do hair and makeup before leaving my house. I refuse to concentrate on the pain in my leg and keep going. I'm on a self improvement kick - and that means I'm going to be happy if it kills me.

Yesterday I walked out of my house to note my neighbor's car door was open. Now first of all, let me just give a little background on my neighbor Officer Friendly. He looks to be in his mid 40's, lives alone with 2 German Shepherds and is a police detective. Since moving to my home in February I've spoken with him no more than 3 times. That's because he makes it a point to NEVER so much as look at me if we cross paths. Now honestly, I don't know that I would have noticed much except he's so drastically different with other neighbors on the street. Or when someone is with me.

For example, once my tall, slender and pretty blond sister-in-law was sitting with me on my porch when Officer Friendly drove up. He was all smiles and happiness saying hello when he got out of the car. For a moment I thought I was on "All My Children" and was meeting the Stuart to Officer Adam Friendly. Who was this smiling man.

So anyway, I walk outside and note his driver's door is open. I look and note his work car is there so I assume he's probably just run in the house to get something. Not wanting to meet up with him and face a brush of, I rush inside and shut the door. A couple of hours later I walk outside to let my dog out and note his work car is gone, but the door is still open. We had just had a serious afternoon shower. I close the car door. This morning I'm working in my office when I hear Officer Friendly outside with his dogs. For a minute or two I wrestle with my conscience. Finally I sigh and go outside. I stand at my door.

"I just wanted to let you know your car door was open yesterday, and I shut it."

Before I finish the sentence he turns his back to me and walks away. Like an idiot, I go on. "I just wanted you to know in case there is damage to the electric in the door..."

"Was this around 3?" He barks, checking the car never giving me the courtesy of looking at me.

"Yes, I think so."

"I took the dogs to the vets." He is now walking to his house. I turn to go in mine. As I'm closing my door I hear him sneer.

"thank you." But it really sounded more like, "thanks for nothing, bitch."

This morning after dropping my own dog off at the vets I remembered some dry cleaning I dropped off nearly 30 days ago. I stopped to pick it up. I had 4 receipts. One was for 10 pieces of dry cleaning and the other three were each for an alteration. The woman brought me the dry cleaning and 2 alterations. She looked and looked but could not find the final item. She went get the manager and informed me he was busy in the bathroom. I waited and he finally came out, never spoke to me, but simply stood punching in the cash register looking puzzled. He turned to the girl, they spoke of not finding the piece, he looked at me and said something about having to ask. I looked at the girl, she explained they would have to ask the woman who did the alteration and she would not be in until tomorrow.

I look at the man, he looks at me.

"So, am I suppose to come back tomorrow?"

He looks at me.

"Ok, look, I don't mean to be a pain, but I've already paid, you took my receipts and now you'll show you gave me the pieces. I'm sure you can understand why I'm not comfortable with this."

He looks at me.

I finally lean over the counter and pick up the four pick up receipts of mine they had thrown in the trash. I grab a pen from the cup, place it on top of one of the receipts and slide it across to the manager.

"I'd like at least a name please of whom I'm speaking with."

He jots "Tao" across the paper. By now I'm pretty damn furious, but I leave. All the way home I'm fuming. When I get home I carefully go through the clothes. I note there is a skirt in the dry cleaning that I remember I asked them to hem. So this is the third alteration. I now debate, should I call and let them know? I tell myself to let them continue researching as punishment for the crappy service but finally I decide to be nice. I inform the woman who answers that I was just there and found the missing item. She says to wait and puts Mr. Blank Stare on the phone. I try and explain and he says, "Can you describe the skirt?"

"Look sir, I was just calling to tell you that I have all my clothes and you don't need to follow up with the tailor tomorrow."

"Ok." Click. I know despise myself for giving them a moment more of my time.

A few hours I leave to meet some friends for lunch. I take the warehouse road end up sitting and waiting several minutes for an 18-wheeler to back up since it's blocked the entire road. When the way is clear I drive 30 yards to stop for a train. I'm late to meet my friends, but we persevere on to a rather cute little cafe. I entertain them with tales of my woe. The waiter is clearing our table when he drops something. I look down and note he is wiping ketchup off a nearby chair and the floor. He walks away looking at me oddly. I look down and there is a huge blob of ketchup down my jeans and on my espadrilles.

My karma is clearly way off.

Tomb of the UnMarrieds

Yesterday morning I opted for the iPod on my morning ride and forgot my phone at home. It was one of those days when getting the energy to exercise was ridiculously more difficult than normal. And trust me, it is always beyond difficult for me to get the motivation. The pug failed to move from his morning nap so I took out alone and turned the volume up loud.

I returned home 40 minutes later (ok, I know, I didn't do an hour as I should have and frankly I may be padding the time by a few minutes) to find a message from my older sister. "Whatever you do, do not take a call from our parents until you've spoken to me!" she begged.

It's now nearly 9:30 on Sunday morning so I call her at home. No answer - dear God, I must know now - so I call her cell. She answers quickly, "You're going to be blogging about this for days!" she warns me.

Our mother got her before 8:30 in the morning with the joyous news that our small home town is going to finally build - get this - another mausoleum. This news brings much joy to mother and she giddily asks my sister if we (my sister and I - the unmarried and living alone) would like to buy plots with she and my father. It should be done soon because there is little available, and it is imperative we support the project. My sister begs her to give her a little time to think about it and get back. Before they hang up my mother sings out, "Just let me know if we need to buy 4 plots."

Happy Sunday Morning to you too!

My sister is now at a loss for words. What is the most incredible point of this?

• That my parents are truly jazzed up there are burial plots available?
  
• That just because we're 'ALONE' our parents think we need to consider burial plots now?
• That this is the type of news worth an early morning emergency phone call?

Ok, the last one is actually a bit inaccurate. Anyone who knows my family knows that by 8:30 on any given morning the majority of us has been up for at least 2 hours, some closer to 4.

I sigh as she finishes her story of the phone call.

"Actually, I've already settled this with mother." I inform her.

My parents bought when they were very young next to my paternal grandfather and his second wife. My sister was killed in a car accident in 1977 so she is now buried in it. A few years ago my father's sister asked if she could have the spot with my sister. She died shortly thereafter from cancer. Sometime after her funeral I asked my mother if I could be buried with them.

"There is no room for another coffin" she lamented.

"But there is for an urn," I countered. I expected my mother to shudder, though it's now allowed, most Catholics aren't fond of the idea of cremation. My mother surprised me with her joyful response, "Oh that's true, all that matters is you'll be in consecrated land."

So that, I thought, was that. My mother was overjoyed I would be buried in a Catholic cemetery and I got over the icky task of telling them I want to be cremated. Pop me in in with the other "unfortunate un-marrieds" and call it the Tomb of Old Maids.

When I tell her, my sister is in. Ok, I didn't mention the "Tomb of Old Maids" nickname. "Don't worry, I'll talk to them."

I hang up and dial home. My father answers. We chit chat about the upcoming family vacation for a few minutes and then my father gets right to it.

"Did your mother call you this morning?"

"No, but I heard the news from Sis."

"Well, are you interested?" His voice is earnest, clearly it's important to him as well.

"Pop, I've already settled this issue with Mom." So I tell him of my plans. "I guess it's good we're discussing this because I need you to handle whatever legal papers we need to allow me into the crypt."

My father muses, "I don't know how they go about placing urns with caskets."

"It doesn't matter to me, all I'll need is a small space. Just throw me in the back."

There is silence on the phone. My father gulps. He is 74 years old and death is very real to him. I suddenly realize he's probably envisioning me throwing his body in the mausoleum any old way, slamming the door shut and walking away never to return. This is not amusing.

"Dad, I would just be honored to be buried with them if it's ok with you and Mom. And the church is ok with cremation as long as I'm placed on sacred ground." This calms him down a little. He admits he knows this but he's just not quite at the point of being comfortable with cremation for himself. And besides, "we" all really need to support this new mausoleum.

"I know, but I'm ok with my little spot if you're ok. And Sis wants to go with the same plan. No more cost or worry to anyone."

I hang up needing a shower. Sure, it's in large part to the copious amount of sweat from my bike ride. But bursting my parents bubble, considering my parents, sister and my own mortality, discussing funerals and thinking of the Tomb of Old Maids has made me feel soiled.

And to dust we shall return...