Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Yoda Ling And Obfustacatory Ravelations
Wow. Did a pet Blog a while back, and while the blog is ok, the comment by Kevin is pretty incredible reading, as well.
Today was busy day. I terminated my uncle's use of my farmland, and rented it to one of my cousins. I don't think the uncle cares anymore. He's in his late eighties, and mostly stays at home; his step-son-in-law is the one responsible for burning down my grandparents' home, selling off part of the family land, tearing down my family's storage building and getting rid of its contents. He later tore down my hay-barn, complete with outdoor toilet on one end.
My cousin reports that my watering pond is pretty much a muck-puddle, all mud, no drinking water, so he's going to have to clear it out for the moo-cows to use.
Dad and I went into our separate depressions after Mom died. He quit checking mail altogether, which was a VERY bad mistake, because between them handling all their bills by mail and mom's love of catalogs and newsletters, three days of mail would strain the seams of their double-size mailbox. I'd sometimes go grab it out of the box for him, throw it all in a laundry basket, and he'd assure me he'd go through it later. He seldom did. I learned to keep an eye out for "Final Notice" letters and fill out his checks for him, have him sign them, and send them in. Later, I discovered he wasn't even depositing his retirement checks.
I was almost as bad. I'd save things to check out later; pretty soon, I had plastic grocery bags full of mail scattered everywhere. Neither of us even THOUGHT about income taxes; we simply didn't file any from 2001 on. It occurred to me some time in early 2004 that I'd better start rectifying that, or we were going to be in big trouble. I went on a massive seek-and-destroy at Dad's, weeded out all the catalogs, emailed them when possible asking them to STOP sending more, wrote, called, whatever. Then I started in with what had been Dad's favored junk mail, since he no longer bothered to read it. Then I started on collecting what he'd need for his accountant. I took a monster cardboard box full of papers to the accountant, and requested that he do mine conjoined with Dad's. I followed up 3 weeks later with an enormous box of my stuff.
Today, after a three-day sweep of every piece of mail I could find in my house, I think I finally got the last of 2001-2004 turned in. 2005 has been stuffed in its own box since day one, most of it marked. I dumped two 33 gallon bags of nothing but extraneous mail out for the garbage guys.
With the various trips I've made to the accountant, there's one corner of his conference room totally stacked with our stuff, and various piles on the table itself. The bill is going to be ugly.
I then went and photographed an old girlfriend's sister's house. My boss is going to work up an estimate on it, since it's falling apart and she doesn't have the money to fix it. It may be worth enough to put her in a smaller, better-maintained house or a small condo.
Then I headed for the rehab center. The day nurses grabbed me outside and asked if I'd seen the bedsore on Dad's back. I told them I'd seen a Polaroid of it, and it's ugly and it's BIG. They told me it hadn't been that large before he went to the hospital. I told them that now that his regular doctor was back on the case, I had some hopes he would start healing. They said his vitals stayed strong all the time, his appetite was good, but they were still worried about him.
He was deep asleep when I came in. I got him to semi-wakefulness, poured him full of water, but then he said he needed more sleep, so I told him "I love you, Old Man", and took off. He was drifting off as I left. The nurses caught me at the desk and said there's some kind of discount available to cases like Dad's, and they were going to make sure it was being applied to us. It's ALWAYS wise to be nice to the staff.
That's you, and that's a compliment. Would that all fathers had sons like you.
Kevin
They also treated it as an inside joke between me and them; even when people would stare at all of us, obviously curious, they never bothered to explain, just laughed and rang up my order.
The only time I ever saw them serious was after I threatened a crack dealer outside their store one night; I had a headache, was in a bad mood, and told him if he was still outside when I came out, i was going to beat him to death.
Later, the man who apparently was head of the family asked me, privately, never to kill anyone near the store; it would be bad...he didn't have the English word, so I don't know...Karma, Juju, whatever. I thought it interesting that he didn't advise against killing him, just not to do it on the premises. I gave him my promise I would never do that, he gave me a quick bow and handshake, and we were friends again.
I had forgotten that part of the incident for years. I was more focused on the interaction between me and the dealer, and the crowd watching us.
I don't know if the bow was from martial artist to martial artist, or a traditional Korean thing. What say you, Kevin?
Arnie
and..thanks for the compliment. I had to be a disappointment to the Old Man in some ways, but he never showed it. I was his son, he loved me, and the rest was secondary. The least I can do is care for him out of love, and when I'm too tired or exasperated with him to do that, out of duty.
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