Hugs for Kitty and David
WHINE AWAY: SINGING THE BLUES
The WordPress weekly writing challenge for March 28, 2014, is: singing the blues: How do you combat the blues? What’s one tip you can share with others that always helps to lift your spirits?
I’ve never been a whiner. It’s a talent I’m just now developing, perhaps six decades too late in life. I limit my practice to a small group, several women from my community who gather most Saturday evenings, a group my husband Monte refers to as the winos, and we refer to as the whiners and winers.
We happened to be together at a local restaurant on a Tuesday evening when I too every opportunity to whine.
“Do we have to listen to much more of this,” I was asked.
“I deserve to whine this week. As such I claim the right to continue to whine until Tuesday or Wednesday.”
I did have reason to whine. I was sitting with these women when I should have been in Harrisburg, having enjoyed attending the Senate hearing on Pa. House Bill 162: Adult Adoptees Right to Access Original Birth Certificate held this morning.
And there was a lot more I was missing.
Several weeks ago Monte, a retired pastor, was invited to perform a wedding for the daughter of a friend in another community. It was to be on Ocean Beach, New Jersey, on March 22. On the sand. On the Atlantic Ocean shoreline.
I encouraged him: “Say yes, say yes.” He did say yes.
We re-met the bride, met the groom, and counseled them via SKYPE.
“After the wedding let’s visit my sister, Kitty,” I suggested. She lives close enough to Ocean City Beach that we went there when I visited her home a number of years ago.
“Do you think we could take a side trip to Baltimore so I can research information on my great grandmother Borinsky?” She lived in Minersville, Pennsylvania, and lived the end of her life in Baltimore, Maryland, with her daughter. She was an 1890s Lithuanian immigrant. In Baltimore I could also meet another distant relative, too. Lynda is into genealogy and could possibly help me find the records on my great grandmother’s death, and more.
And on the route home we had pass by Fayetteville, Pennsylvania, where my ill brother, David, lived. Good for a short visit.
“You know,” Monte told me, “that the Senate hearing on HB 162 on opening birth records for adult adoptees ”
The timing of the hearing fit into our schedule like the last puzzle piece completes the puzzle. We would leave home on Monday, attend the hearing and head for Baltimore on Tuesday, leave Baltimore on Thursday afternoon, be on the Beach Friday and Saturday (of course, we’d have to include the wedding ceremony and its festivities), visit sister Kitty Sunday and Monday, start back home and visit brother David on Tuesday, and be home by Wednesday. All puzzle pieces fitting in place.
On March 14 our plans began to unravel. A bug invaded Monte’s body, and invited its friends in for a party. He isolated himself upstairs and wouldn’t use the computer for several days for fear of the bug expanding its territory and claiming my body. His bug rejoiced at his coughing spells, exhaustion, aches. It stole his appetite and his energy. It appeared to me to be the same bug I’d heard had visited others and overstayed its welcome by several weeks. I began to think we might have to reduce our travel, eliminating the Harrisburg and Baltimore side trips.
On the weekend he decided to make a doctor’s appointment. On Monday. I asked the doc if he thought we should cancel our plans.
“Wait until Thursday and see how Monte is doing.”
“We can’t do that. I told you he’s the officiating pastor. He can’t wait until Thursday to inform the bride her pastor can’t make her wedding.”
Monday afternoon he called the bride and withdrew from performing the wedding service. Our travel was officially cancelled.
On Tuesday I watched the Senate hearing on HB 162 on-line, and met with my friends that evening. To accentuate my wining I wore my Hampton Beach, New Hampshire, jacket I picked up at a local Good Will.
“I shouldn’t be here,” I whined. “I should be in Baltimore now. And see, I wore this jacket because I’m supposed to have my feet in the Atlantic Ocean on Friday.”
Anytime anything was mentioned anything that could remotely be connected to weddings, beach, and travel I used as an opportunity to whine.
“How long will we have to listen to this,” I was asked.
“I intend to whine until Tuesday or Wednesday, when we should have returned home. I expect you to support me in this.”
“Oh, all right. I guess we can put up with it ’til then. As long as you quit then.”
Every time they erred by saying something that even remotely reminded me of my cancelled plans I whined and they rolled their eyes.
On Saturday Monte the bug was still partying. He felt tired and exhausted, but his other symptoms, still present, were much abated by the medicine prescribed by the doctor.
“I never could have made it to and through the wedding,” he said.
I used the week to do some cleaning I would not have gotten to for eons, if ever. On a brief almost-spring day I removed some of the tree ornaments from our outside trees. I took a walk. And I whined to anyone who would listen. It made me feel good.
I quit whining on Wednesday, as promised. Monte still tires easily but is on the mend. Life is creeping back to normal. So far I Monte’s bug hasn’t tried partying in my body.
And that’s my tale of woe, a tale that provided me much practice in whining, or singing the blues. The sun will shine tomorrow. Hallelujah.