Hank Meets 'Snapper'

After reading my sister's ever-so-cute blog, I decided that I needed to do more blog writing. Only I may be setting myself up for failure as far as content and ability goes: no cute or funny kid stories, no thought-provoking messages. Just Hank and me living in our recently purchased home with our recently given Boxer, Halifax.

We just moved into our South Arlington home this past weekend. It shouldn't be a surprise that we are 98% unpacked and settled. It shouldn't be a surprise because I live with Hank. But it is a surprise because he lives with me, a procrastinator at turtle speed. Even my high school volleyball coach/English teacher nicknamed me 'Snapper.' Due to my speed or my personality, neither should be taken as a compliment.

Hank got another taste of the latter trait to 'Snapper.' Curtains are to blame. Our living room, dining room, and kitchen include huge windows that overlook the backyard/pool area. After the discussion of asking a friend to make our curtains, plans suddenly changed when Hank could clearly see into our neighbor's homes due their lack of any window privacy. This, apparently, could not be us. So at 9 p.m. on Saturday night, we went to Wal-mart in search of curtains, curtain rods, and a drill. Besides the fact that I had already been to Wal-mart less than 10 hours earlier and spent a lump sum, I was not thrilled with this plan.

But we went. And we bought. And we almost fought. Almost thanks to Hank. He's above fighting and I love him for it. Here's the meat of the conversation.

Hank: "Let's send a message and have these curtains in the living room and these in the dining room." (Let me explain our floor plan and what Hank is holding. There is no separating wall between our living room and dining room. We agreed that colors should match... Both curtains had cranberry and tan colors. Both curtains were striped. Neither curtain pattern matched the other. I had a problem with this, and 'Snapper' took action.)

Me: "Hank, these patterns don't even match. People will think we tried to get the same curtains but couldn't find them so we got the next closest thing. Let's do the dining room striped in this pattern and the living room solid in this cranberry color."

Hank: "What happened to the old Denise that was easy going and trusted my decisions?"

Me: "She's dead." (Just kidding, I didn't say that, but the following instead.) "This is our house, hopefully for a very long time. This matters." (So what I really said may not have been the better of the two...)

Hank: "You decide. I'll be in McDonald's. I still say stripes in both rooms, but you decide." Then he gives me some cash, does a snapping-finger-point-move, sarcastically says, "Love ya," and disappears to the next aisle.

So I'm left to contemplate: get what he wants or what I think is practical. After too much diliberation, Snapper wins. Living room has striped curtains (Hank's first pick, not mine) and solid cranberry in the dining room. A compromise, right?

Only in the eyes of Snapper. Love you Hank.

The Aftermath

It's hard to read my blog from January after the Christmas trip to Nebraska--it's hard to read the negative thoughts I had and the blame I had on Dad for my lack of motivation. What a crock. Dad's mood was far from the reason I didn't want to grade or clean or make phone calls to athletes. I know better than that. I am a procrastinator; have been all my life. I just wanted to point and blame.



I do recall his mood and I know it waring. No matter who we saw in Pawnee after chemo, Dad had very few nice things to say about them. I specifically remember thinking: "He knows everyone in Pawnee County and can't stand 90% of them...but I bet they'll be at his funeral; I'll bet his funeral will be huge." I was right.



His funeral was big. Standing room only in basement I was told. People I had never seen before; people I knew he didn't even like. But for some reason or another, they came; they had a special connection or maybe occurance where they wanted to pay their respects. I was glad they came. I was relieved it was big. I know Dad and I didn't have to best relationship--especially the last few months of his life. So to see everyone there was softer on my heart, I guess. Not that the abundance of friends could replace the relationship of ours, but it just put some of the guilt at ease.



I wonder if they knew the side of Harold we knew--Mom, Steph, Rhonda, Kim, Bobbi and I. I wonder if any of those people saw his negativity and sometimes hate. And then I wonder, what does it matter whether they had or hadn't? It's easy to forget the bad. It's easier than I thought it would be. I thought I would have some anger towards him for the rest of my days. But I don't. And that's good. I know it's good.

Toleration

I went home for 12 days. Home is Nebraska and the stay seemed far too long. All of the sisters live out of state so family gatherings mean ALL of us (spouses and kids included) stay under the same roof. It's usually Mom and Dad's roof, but sometimes a hotel must accommodate our family of 13. It's tense. I wonder how the hell I managed to live there for 18 years. I wonder if we've all changed that much or if we just can't tolerate it as much anymore.
It's exhuasting. So exhausting I don't have any energy to grade papers in my own home...or clean or work on my resume or contact volleyball players about practice tomorrow night. No desire. I wonder if that house in Lewiston, Nebraska did that or if he did...Dad. I read what I write and guilt overcomes. How dare I point a finger at him? How dare I blame my happiness or lack thereof on him? Can't do that, Denise. You just can't. No matter how many negative things pour from his mouth, no matter how many looks of disgust he displays for us notice. You just can't do that.

Ahhh Saturday

Saturday morning. After sleeping in til 9:30, a collegue calls to see if we can have a quick 'treat'. A cigg before noon is uncommon for us, but being the rebels that we are, we sit on the deck in 40 degree weather and enjoy the crisp air of December in Texas intermingled with the nasy stinch of ciggy smoke. Ugh.

Next on the agenda: grocery shopping for a cookie party tomorrow. Gotta bake 6 dozen cookies for my fat ass to endure. ick. the cheeks don't need it.

After the cookies cool, it's to Grapevine to finish Christmas shopping and drink a glass of wine...alone! I can't wiat.

NOW: gotta brush the teeth and get the aftermath of one smokey treat out of my mouth.