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> > > ...after a month of near misses < and some last minute fine tuning >, I finally get it together and get the handyma'am update posted.

It has been one of those months ya know?! Too busy. And, everything that could got wrong computer wise... did. From mysterious General Protection Faults to lost files and misplaced disks... < a true comedy of errors >

But, nevermind all that. And NO - I'm not trying to make any excuses...

S T I L L  . . . 
...I don't like being late - < it's a peeve of mine > so pardon me if it happens to be a peeve of yours...

< insert humble glance and 3 second pause >

...now - on with it.

> > > > for those of you who want to read the december 1998 update - go here.

January 1st, 1999

Happy New Year!

Thankfully, I am not using my head to ring in the new year...

Seems she consumed all too much bubbly last evening, thus reducing her bubbly self to a pile of rubble destined for a heap. One of those all day heaps...

...you sit here - you lay there

AND

no matter WHAT you do

January 2nd, 1999

Happy Day after the first day of the new year...

January 3rd, 1999

God Almighty. Lots of people are going bonkers...


< and you're so vain, you probably think I'm talking about you... don't you? ...don't you? >

Is it a perennial full moon?

. . . the water supply?

. . . global warming?

NO

NO

NO

NO

It's the . . .

< insert spine tingling music here >

...will y2k create technical disaster - or, will it cause a series of problems that can be resonably remedied?

OR,

...will our infrastructure collapse and anarchy reign terror?

While I won't be the first to say "I don't know," I can say that I find some views on the subject rather questionable to completely outlandish. Is this a technological problem or, is it a religious signal? Is it both?

What to do? Should we stockpile food and water to feed our families? < getting extra for the non y2k educated that we love - just in case? > Should we build a bomb shelter in the backyard for our survival? Or, should we quit our jobs, take our money out of the banks and head for the hills?

Should we worry about embedded chip failure?

Recently, I attended an all day y2k conference. And, I have to tell you that after listening to what some people were saying, I left feeling more confused than when I walked in.

I promptly went home and poured myself a drink.

I concluded that this is either the biggest chicken little story of century - or, the proverbial shit is about to hit the fan.

My sense tells me that the truth probably lies somewhere between the two extremes - although, closer to chicken little on the spectrum of total failure. While there will be problems associated with the date change and the missing digits on non-compliant systems, the technical and hardware problems will most likely result in a mountain of liability issues.

A measure of composure is necessary for any potentially combative situation, anything else may be tantamount to feeding the frenzy. So, it looks like I won't be jumping on any millennial bandwagon... or, giving money to the glut of y2k troubleshooters and consultants that suddenly sprang up out of nowhere...

< shit happens and some people automatically smell money >

...I will not live in fear of the future - it'll get here soon enough.

In the meantime... we have our lives to live.

And today, that means I have snow to shovel...

January 4th, 1999

Wow. This diary is nearing its 1st anniversary < jan 21 >... hard to believe my emotional sanctuary here is becoming dated. Harder to believe I ever found the time necessary to document any of it.

1998 was a very busy year for the mad handyma'am...

...and, it doesn't stop there, it only goes on from there. There's plenty left to be done. And, without a doubt, more will be conjured up. Along with hidden obstacles and blessings.

What a mix life can be.

January 6th, 1999

Chubtown
Downtown, all around, everyone is talkin' 'bout Chubtown...

Everyone around me is on a diet from holiday overeating. Everyone is whining about their fat - even though they look the same to me. Or, maybe we are all a little bigger...

Could it be that this is an ancestral holdover? Perhaps that fat really WAS there to keep you warm in the winter months - long, long before we had central heating in our caves. And piped in water < let alone a bidet >. And doorknobs or, even curtains and Teflon. Eons before Tupperware, placemats, and Comet cleanser.

Yep. Maybe our metabolism slows down and we are led to the holiday buffet tables by the same mechanism that migrates geese. Maybe we had to LIVE off our fat in the northern regions come winter. Maybe that fat offered added life preserving protection for the winter months. Maybe that's why food seems to smell better and taste better when it's freezing out.

Or, maybe we have been spending too much time in the house...

...you know...

...thinking too much.

But, do tell me...

when we lived a life without ceiling fans,

January 11th, 1999

I tried my best to get this update posted today... unfortunately, everything that could go wrong did.

So, I gave up for the evening to get some sleep...

January 12th, 1999

At last.

The update is posted.

Glitches and misplaced disks aside, < I will not bore you with all the details - I'm sure you've had your moments > here it is. Things appear to be under control.

I swore I heard a whooshing sound as I whipped this update off into the vast techno-hinterland...

January 17th, 1999

Her voiced cracked with emotion as tears spilled from her cheeks, eyes fixed in a glaze of disbelief. She sat curled up on the couch, clutching a pillow. "I never wanted this to happen... I never wished for this...

...oh my God...

...what am I gonna tell THEM?

...HOW am I gonna tell the kids?"

It was 4 in the morning. 3 when we woke up from the alarm known as the telephone. A dreaded phone call in the night...

...where we awoke, hurriedly dressed and went to my sister's house after getting 2 and ½ hours of sleep.

Her estranged husband was dead. Killed in a car accident at 2 in the morning. A head-on accident that left a 4 year old son and a 2 year old daughter without a father...

January 18th, 1999

Readers familiar with the ongoing saga, KNOW that I was no fan of Mr. Moody < sis's estranged husband >. And, I had good reason for that, due to his emotional instability and abusive behavior.

Regardless, I truly wished for him to be different - but, I never wished for him to be dead.

I do feel for his family and for the kids...

...YET - - - I feel somewhat guilty for the relief I now feel where my sis is concerned since he is dead, but, I don't have to worry about him hurting her anymore.

January 21st, 1999

Happy anniversary to this one year old journal... < whoopee >

When I began this journey into the land of journals - none of this chaos was what I had expected to be writing about. I didn't anticipate dealing with death as a continuing subject. I had intended this to chronicle my efforts in renovating an old house - the pleasure and pain involved in the process.

As you can see, the pleasure/pain part was right on. But, the fact that this has evolved into something that has encompassed life as I work on the house, the picture has widened, and focusing on that one aspect of my life is...

...impossible.

After my father's unexpected suicide on February 9th of 1997, I threw myself into working. I knew that Dad's death was something I would have to work myself through - but - I never knew how hard it would be, or, what to expect. I just knew that I would be thinking about it a lot anyway, so I rationalized my working with the idea that I'd be mentally preoccupied no matter what I was doing so - why not get something done during that healing time. So I did.

I suppose that in a sense, I built monuments to reflect my pain. I needed somewhere to put it because it didn't fit into any convenient slots anywhere in my life.

about the accident

< insert Twilight Zone music here >

The accident totaled out both vehicles in the head-on collision. According to police investigators, the Mr. apparently lost control and crossed over into the other driver's lane, across several lanes of traffic. He was beyond the legal limit in drink and, < or but > the roads were icy.

Yup.

The same friend that owns the house that sis and the kids have been living in.

....

...

..

.

WOW.

Legally, sis was still married to her now dead, was-gonna-be-her-ex-husband. Sista widow has new decisions to make and, new responsibilities foisted upon her. Too much to think properly in this dreamlike frame of mind...

... it's like we can't believe it, but - we know it's true. As numbing as it is...

ANYWAY... ...sister has been running the roads all week and has been on the telephone when she wasn't. So much needs to be taken care of. So much.

Tuesday, an autopsy was performed on him. Sista decided she wanted to see him before he was cremated. Something that, at first, was completely out of the question for her. But, she had decided she wanted to see him again.

So she did. After the autopsy she faced him again. Awash with emotion, she later described seeing him and said, " He was just so cold... and I couldn't believe it. He was soooo cold..."

As she tried to hold back tears she said,

"... I didn't want to leave him there. I wanted to stay there with him or take him with me...

I knew what she meant. I knew she loved him. She never wanted to leave him to begin with, she only knew she had to.

It wasn't that this is what she wanted. It wasn't what she wished for. For a long time, she thought he was it, that this was it - and, she tried every way she knew how to make it work out...

... because she had a dream.

And that was the way it was supposed to be.

That was the way it was supposed to turn out. A happy story with a happy ending; YES - that was the way it was supposed to be.

January 22nd, 1999

Tomorrow is the memorial. His ashes will be in an urn surrounded by pictures of him. Friends and family will gather together in the church his two kids were baptized in.

I remember the baptism clearly. It was two years ago in the church of the St. Holy Stained Glass < truly stunning work in one of the city's oldest churches >. His newborn daughter was in sis's arms as we sat in the church pew. Their then two year old son was fidgeting around mercilessly. He wanted to get up on my lap, and with my help, he did.

Everything was quiet in the church. He's wriggling around on my lap when he suddenly turns to me and says loudly with his finger pointing in the air,

His question wouldn't allow me to wipe the smirk off my face during the service < when I told him who it represented, he also repeated that loudly... >.

Anyway, THAT was the last time I stepped foot in that church. Tomorrow I'll be there again. I'll see his family - many of which I thought I'd probably never see again, due to the impending divorce. Laura and I will be around people that we've only been around on the day they were married, when the children were born, and, to celebrate the kid's birthdays.

Personally...

...I think that all this handyma'am stuff is a breeze compared to this. Although, living could be harder than dying... I'm uncertain it is hell < except at times >

After the service, we will assemble at a nearby hall to eat.

... knowing the usual food fare around these parts, you can bet they'll be serving up some ham.

And, I don't really care what anyone says...

...

..

.

no

matter

how

you

slice

a

ham...

January 24th, 1999

The service was emotionally difficult < as expected > but, everyone made it through the day - although, thoroughly drained.

The shocked and pained faces that gathered at the service affected us all. His mother called out my name when she saw me and hugged me with such powerful arms, I could have swore they were not hers. Her body wracked with grief, her sobs resonating through my upper body while the crowd entering the church gently roared around us.

I didn't want to let her go. I felt her pain.

When I looked at her childlike, tear stained face, I could say nothing more than, "I am SO sorry... I am so very sorry..."

He was her first born child. I walked away wiping a tear. A tear for her. The pain of a mother's loss...

January 26th, 1999

< excuse the interruption for a brief philosophical moment >

In light of the amount of activity the past few years in the death and changes department of life, I can say for certain that the handyma'am is a survivor < death always makes us evaluate our lives >.

I am not a survivor by mere chance alone, but one of choice. I intend to stay that way.

I won't live within the confining structure of wounds. There is no solace in old pain and pity. We all get our wounds in this life - there's no actual reason to compare the depth of our pain, it isn't a contest.

There's no reason to wear your pain until it literally becomes who you are. It tends to drive people away, right along with your true self < Instead of "oh, woe is me..." why not try, "oh, whoa is me..." and stop doing that shit to yourself ! >.

Forgiveness means letting go. Death and other forms of separation mean letting go. To heal we have to let go. To grow we have to let go.

January 27th, 1999

I'm home after day that already seems much too long.

When I walked in the house, the telephone was ringing. It was Laura. She might be home about 9 tonight. She hopes. And, so do I. I need to spend some time with her. Even if we don't say a thing.

As soon as I hang up the phone, it rings again. It's a friend having a computing crisis. After 45 minutes of tech help - she's got it figured out. I grab a Coke and head for my computer. The phone rings again. It's the computer crisis, part 2. This time she's at another computer at a different place. They have call waiting and, I'm put on hold. After a minute, she comes back on the phone. We aren't even talking for 5 minutes when my other line rings...

It's my sister. Talking in that rapid fire way that lets me know she, too is having a crisis. WHAT NOW? I wonder and before I can ask the question, I'm getting the answer...

...more chaos.

And here's where we begin the sista update:

Hmmmm. It's regarding her dead husband's mother. The mother-in-law that fits that meddling stereotype. She caused many problems for them while they were married. Many.

I never had any problems with her, but I wasn't close to her either. I saw her occasionally outside of holidays, events and birthdays and < you know how it is > she never bothered me and she was different < personality wise > but, I got along with her fine. I was pleasant towards her and she returned the gesture.

He died without a will. The house and possessions are now in probate court.

According to sista's lawyer, the court will make her personal representative to the estate, as they were legally married at the time of his death. Whoopee. She acquires his debts, including a house with little equity on the mortgage. It's more of a headache than anything...

...the word ESTATE makes it sound lavish and sprawling. Just like something you'd love to have. This is NOT the case in this case.

After the accident - a few days after, his mother told my sis that she was going to the house and wanted to take the TV < because it was bigger than hers > and, all of the bedding in the house. Sis told her that she didn't care what she took from the house but to wait because her lawyer had advised her to take an inventory of everything in the house for the court proceedings.

Well, it seems Momma forgot about that conversation and legality. She went in the house and removed items anyway. Sis found out about it and called her lawyer who advised her to change the locks on the house. Then Momma contacted the local locksmith and told them NOT to do the work until a court order was in place...

...sis was absolutely furious.

On the surface, it looks like a job for the mad handyma'am...

...But wait a minute. I'm less than thrilled to get directly involved in this sad mess, and I don't want to do it... but then there's that sista thing. You know. She needs you. You're there. Guilt. Love. Loyalty... < that relative stuff ya know > and,

the most compelling factor of all:

The in-law thing was practically a given. I figured there would be trouble, based on a well established pattern.

His Momma has a history of strange behavior. His siblings and spouses can attest to it.

Sis has a high-strung streak. She was vocally contemplating making her fight to see the kids.

My advice: take a downer. Pray about it...

Let's take a 360 and catch up on what I am doing lately...

I ordered the cabling needed to install the home theater system. It should be here by the end of the week < yes, fingers are crossed and all lucky charms are arranged >.

I have the cabling plan sketched out on a ragged piece of paper that I hope I can find. Although, I can probably remember the drawing in my minds eye if necessary... that comes easily; WHY I can't remember dates < birthdays, anniversaries, etc. > is beyond me. I don't get it < I forget it >.

Probably some sort of math-based backlash. Maybe some of my neurons are bitter over all that unused algebra.

ANYWAY, been mudding and drywalling on the ceiling in the furthest part of the room. Doing the scaffold thing. Climbing the ladder frequently. Continually dusting myself off and trying to keep semi-organized.

There's nothing quite like getting to the top of a 10 foot ladder with the screw gun and looking down to see the box of screws on the floor. Or, whatever else you need to accomplish mission possible.

I have vowed to climb up and down that ladder as many times as I have to to get this job done.

Oh, yeah. By the way, before I forget - they DID have the required pig's ass < ham > at the dinner - in several different forms I might add... sliced, diced and baked.

But, hey, I don't give a crap about what anybody else thinks,

The "other color meat" ... now, I certainly do buy that.