Miscellaneous

I have a box of “Virginity Soap” that my brother and his wife brought with them when they came back for a visit this summer, as a gag gift from Doha, Qatar. Except the soap isn’t considered to be a gag there. I guess it’s not a lot different than the penis pumps and breast creams that get shilled here, except you don’t generally get whipped or disowned for having a small dick or saggy boobs. I’ve been meaning to post a pic and blog about it forever, but life has been… complicated.

I also have a photo of me in full burqa. (Actually, the term they used was “abaya”.) All you can see are my hands, and the smallest area around my eyes. It was extremely strange, donning this cultural garment. Even though the material was sensuously soft and fine and lighter than you would ever imagine it to be, there was something… weighty… about it. I don’t know if it was just awareness for the tradition that made me feel that way, or the fear of oppression, or what. It was, and I apologize for the language, a complete mindfuck. I felt almost claustrophobic and repressed, at the same time as sheltered and part of something bigger. It’s all quite bizarre and fascinating, but not an experience I need to repeat. I have a huge amount of respect for the craftsmanship of the tailors, though. It was exquisite bead and thread work, and I’ve never worn anything so big and encompassing and yet so light and flowing.

The only aunt I have that I’m close to is visiting from Scotland, with two cousins I’ve never met before. My aunt is 82 and in failing health, so this will be the last time she makes the long trip here. It’s an extremely emotional and bittersweet visit, as we all know that we’re not likely to ever see each other again.

My mother is in very poor health, and constant, debilitating pain. They have her on morphine pills, which is never something you want to hear. My father is running himself ragged and doing far more that he’s physically fit to do, as a means of trying to cope with his own stress and fears, and because it’s the only thing he can do that makes him feel a little less helpless. When he stops and talks about it, tears run down his face, so he simply doesn’t stop. That’s my family – soldier on, no matter what.

I live an eight hour drive from my parents, but as the youngest child and only girl, I’m probably the closest relationship-wise with them. My brothers, though, have all started to take a more active and visible role and are chipping in with help and talking with my parents. I’m happy to step back and let them take the reins – my grip is weakening. We are going to have to, very soon, figure out a way to convince my father to sell their property and move into some place that isn’t physically killing them. I don’t know if we can do that without killing what spirit and fire he has left.

On the drive home from my parents last weekend, the song “You Can Let Go” came up on my playlist. I had to pull into the ditch. Wracking sobs came up from somewhere I haven’t been in a long time, and it was a while before I could see to keep driving.

This morning I was standing in my kitchen, wearing plaid flannel boxer shorts and a wife beater tank top, eating toast over the sink. Apparently I’ve turned into a man when I wasn’t watching.

My husband’s relatives from California called yesterday, to say that they’d be in the area sometime over the next few days. They were expecting that they could stay here with us. I guess they didn’t think it necessary to actually, ya know, ask that, before they drove 2500kms.

I got my belly-button pierced. It was a mother-daughter shared experience thing on her 20th birthday.

Someone knocked on our door at 6:30 am this morning. As I struggled to pull on a robe and convince my feet to cooperate, our dog let out a very loud and very low string of barks. By the time I looked out, no one was anywhere in sight. Good puppy.

My husband is very busy with his work, and he has multiple clients who all want him to work on their projects exclusively. Later today he will be pushing a button that will cause tens of millions of dollars worth of cheques to be sent out to recipients. Their eligibility and the cheque amounts are all based on program code that he wrote. He’s somewhat stressed. I would be a complete basket case.

Today I will upload and launch a client web site that has been over a year in the making, and that ended up being more than 4 times larger than what I originally committed to. If they ask me for one more change or addition… even just one more… I will explode.

My father-in-law and his new wife are moving back to the hometown area, so they will be 8 hours away now, too. The new wife is ruffling some feathers and there is tension between dad-in-law and relatives. Different people are trying to pull us into the conflicts, using our concerns about his health as a way to try to sucker us into the fray.

This is a piss-poor blog post.

I’m so very tired.