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May 30th, 2011

Yeah. That’s right.

I stayed up late watching stupid-ass TV two nights in a row. First it was the Judds and their insane reality show. Then it was the end of season five (final season, and to that I say, Fucking amen) of Big Love. Really, they should call that show Sick Love. But I am nuts for the three actresses who play the wives — Jeanne Tripplehorn, Ginnifer Goodwin and Chloe Sevigny. Also I liked how they spun out the (also sick love) storyline of Bill’s parents, played so skillfully and scarily (???) by Grace Zabriskie and Bruce Dern.

Zabriskie I have adored and followed like a little puppy dog ever since “Drugstore Cowboy.” (She played Matt Dillon’s mom. Gus Van Sant did it up when he cast that movie, man.)

“Lord, it’s my dope fiend thief of a son and his crazy little nymphomaniac wife.” (then she hides her purse.) If you haven’t seen that one, check it out.

I cannot give that kind of ringing endorsement to Sick Love and the Judds, though. I say, run for the hills instead of watching those shows.

My point (and I do have one, as Ellen DeGeneres would say) is that even though I slept in, after staying up way too late, and even though I have been eating and drinking all right… I have been fighting off this frickin’ virus for two weeks now. And yesterday I woke up with low blood pressure, low blood sugar, wheezing from asthma and bronchitis, total crash, and ended up in urgent care. (Steve drove, don’t worry.) Bronchitis, allergies, and blah blah blah blah antibiotics and more sleep and etc. The kids were worried and gave me lots of attention and brought me sorbet and there you have it.

Me, resting. I’m dying at some point, but it’s not going to be today. Whew.

However. Now I’m awake at 6 a.m., on our day off (Memorial Day here in the States, or Decoration Day, as my Granny used to call it) so I can go have some delicious breakfast, take an antibiotic and not crash again. Then I will nap and avoid all responsibility. We visited the graves on Saturday. They’re all resting peacefully, fyi, my grandparents, two uncles, my one uncle’s mom, my two aunties and my dear Dad. I left them notes. Wacky Girl was a sweetie, as always, and respectful. Wacky Boy paid his respects in his own way, namely, he raced around the graves, then told me, Try not to step on them! Then he threw rocks in some big mud puddles and eventually couldn’t resist the urge to jump in. So he did.

My dad, grandpa and uncles would have been thrilled, especially since where he was playing was where the baseball diamond used to be. (Now it’s all cemetery.) I hope they noticed, y’know? All of them would have said, She looks just like Nancy when she was little! about my daughter, because that’s what everyone says. Makes me beam every time. At my grandma’s funeral, my uncle’s friend drove down from Seattle — I hadn’t seen him since Grandma’s 80th birthday party. When my daughter walked by, he just said, Little Nancy, under his breath and smiled at her. She didn’t notice, of course, but it made me happy.

Next time I go I’ll take food and flowers and do the whole Day of the Dead thing. The kids are getting older now, they think it’s a little weird, but they’re OK with me doing whatever I need to do, for my little rituals. But I thought I’d spare them this time, since the weather was nice on Saturday and there were a ton of people decorating the graves, leaving flowers, trimming back the grass, all that.

Not everyone understands my need to leave cookies, fruit and notes at the graves of my dead relatives. But I do, so that’s that.

Also? This was amazing and a little Six Feet Under weird. I had twin aunts — they were just adorable. They cheated at cards and were yin/yang funny and no-bullshit about everything. (“Now you’re just reminiscing, Nancy” as one of them used to tell me.) Well, someone in the family needed to look at the world through rose-colored glasses, and it sure wasn’t them or my Grandma, God love ’em. Prairie girls from northern North Dakota who would walk over to Canada when they wanted to play with their friends. Seriously, how cool is that? Six years old or whatever, you’re just going to walk to another country to go play :)

I went over to see them one time — they were both wearing sweatsuits and white headbands — very Olivia Newton-John, “Let’s Get Physical.” They said, in unison as always, “You like these?” (about the headbands.) “The little lady who does our hair gave us these!” omg, too cute and funny.

My point (again) — we were at my Dad’s grave, saying goodbye and getting ready to leave, and I saw two big crows fighting and flipping out (just like my aunties used to do) and sure enough, they sent them.

It was right on their grave.

the end.

— wm

1 Comment

  1. Dan Hortsch says

    As for Big Love: I got into it maybe during the third season; my daughter Stephanie liked it and off and on urged me to watch it. I stayed with it through the end, but it was fine with me that it did end. You are right about the casting of the women in the show, and their characters were distinct and well done. Bill’s character was acted well enough, but he is such a dweeb. At times he is naive, at other times just an idiot (and of course he had to have certain attitudes given his religion and his role in the family). The political writing was pretty bad at times. Or Bill was simply shown to be really ignorant, full of himself and, again, maybe naive. At one point this freshman Republican state senator who is thoroughly disliked by his own caucus — they want to boot him from the senate — tells the state AG that if he doesn’t go along with some plan, he, Bill, will hold up the AG’s budget in Appropriations. No, not going to happen. A disliked freshman wouldn’t even be on Appropriations. Okay, enough complaints about the writing of the political part of the series. But it was not realistic.

    I like your leaving notes and cookies and flowers at graves. My parents and my dad’s parents and a small host of other relatives on my dad’s side are buried at a small Catholic cemetery at Mount Angel, but I have not been there in a long time. They are in my heart and mind. My respect and love for my parents are not changed, to say the least. I appreciate them more than ever. But maybe I’ll drop by with a note and flowers. Thanks for your writings. (Re: your more recent entry: My heart is with my former colleagues at The Oregonian; a good many produce really great work still on accountability issues (public figures and agencies) and on other matters that no one else does or does as well. I feel for the conditions in which they have to work. And Foodday remains a strong part of the newspaper, it appears. When public editor, I had two calls from women in Idaho whose papers that day did not have the Foodday section. The excellent circulation manager was concerned (he might have mailed them the sections). Now, sadly enough, The O doesn’t go that far, I am pretty sure.
    I hope you are feeling much better, WM.

    June 2nd, 2011 | #

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