Petit Papa Noël

Ok, I admit it I've had a hard time getting into the Christmas spirit this year: Parents old and sick in a nursing home, no prospect for change in 2011, disputes with family and friends, a general malaise and ambivalence everywhere. On the best of days I feel helpless. However, I've always loved the holiday system and I can't help be inspired. Luckily, my oldest sister Sugie embodies the qualities of carpe diem (I would be wise to adopt that attitude too), so here we go off on our hommage to the present. We have baked cookies and cakes, made cheese balls, decorated trees, gone shopping and wrapped presents. We're getting a turkey... My brother-in-law is practicing his guitar for his role in a musical play. I know, I'll soon be chanting, ho, ho, ho! myself. My carefree childish nature never really disappeared, so I'm going to try to play Scarlet O'Hara. "I'll think about all those other things another day!" That movie had a happy ending anyway, didn't it? Honestly I don't remember.
So here goes my contribution to the Christmas fair.

Petit Papa Noël. Catchy little tune that symbolizes the French embrassing and making their own some Gallic version of a Norman Rockwell Christmas. Here it goes. Check out the Roch Voisine, Québecoise version of the carol. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7CeGgCiFTHA@feuature=related

Refrain
Petit papa Noël
Quand tu descendras du ciel
Avec des jouets par milliers
N'oublie pas mon petit soulier.
Mais avant de partir
Il faudra bien te couvrir
Dehors tu vas avoir si froid
C'est un peu à cause de moi.


Ho Ho Ho
Rontay Merquiades

Rat in a cage...

Rat in a cage


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E96PQuIl_cQ
Bullet With Butterfly Wings by The Smashing Pumpkins



Here I am in my hometown: Harrison, Ohio population 8,917. Can't miss it. Drive southwest on I-74 about half an hour from Cincinnati and you'll get there... not far from where Ohio, Indiana and Kentucky meet. In fact, it's suburb, "West Harrison" is actually in Indiana. So, it's "great" to be home. It brings stability and continuity. Nothing has changed here in at least 20 years: well, almost nothing. The Kroger supermarket has expanded and is now a superstore... but Otherwise, the same old bowling alley, putt putt golf, Dairy Queen, McDonald's, Downtown historical area, view of the treacherous Great Miami river, the daily record newspaper and last but not least, our award winning high school.. Go wildcats! The green and the white will win over all! Oh, this is the place where the past meets the present; the place where you can raise your kids knowing they'll pick up the right All-American values.


Harrison was named for its most illustrious son, William Henry Harrison, our president of the United States of America. One of the area's tourist attractions is still visiting his tomb. You can climb all the way to the top of his grave, now in superb disrepair, and see clearly the beautiful northbend of the Ohio River where Kentucky juts up into Ohio. Poor William Henry suffered a terrible fate. Just 32 days after taking office he died of a real bad chest cold. Rumor has it he didn't dress warm enough for his Inauguration and didn't carry an umbrella despite the pouring rain. That sealed his fate, and Harrison's 32 days of fame. Yes, take that Andy Warhol, in our neck of the woods it's 32 days, not 15 minutes. Alas, Harrison has never been the same.

W.H. Harrison 1773-1841

Harrison is also unique in its great mixture of people. You've got English, Irish, German, a few Poles and a couple of Italians and maybe even a Greek too. That's about it. It's also hard to find anyone who isn't Catholic. We got a nice church, St. John the Baptist, that has a chicken dinner/gambling festival every August. The Irish brought in lots of little whiskey joints like the Mecca Cafe and the Dew Drop Inn. You can really have a good time there on Saturdy night. FYI: In our town, cafes don't serve coffee, and Inns have no beds. The Germans brought that hankering for brats, wieners, hotdogs and hamburgers all over town. The Poles, the pickles and pumpkins, and Beppo, our Italian, has an absolutely wonderful little pizzeria outside town, making a wicked extra pepperoni, extra cheese pizza. Dio christi!

As I go about town I see the same faces from those legendary dynasties of families that have always lived in town: the Stengals, the Rogers, the Dennisons, the Pruits, their offspring and their offspring's offspring. Now I understand the concept of reproduction. Literally, you reproduce yourself in all of your glory. The captain of the football team and homecoming queen's children, well you know what they are? Now they have become park ranger and PTA mom like their parents were. The bad boys who smoked dope under the bleachers beget other bad boys who knock up the daughters of the girls who were teen parents twenty years ago. I guess we could loosely divide the people into two groups: 1) the white trash, those that rhyme well with whale, pack with park, are more fans of Johnny Walker than Jesus, and do real bad things sometimes; 2) the good folks who send their children to Sunday school, have day jobs with titles, make meatloaf casserole, say Oh my gawd and who'd have thunk it all the time, and turn up their noses at the people they consider white trash... but in reality, we've all got the white so we all got the trash. A visit to that super Kroger's reveals wonders, "honey, say thank you to that nice lady". "I'm a gonna whop you but yin li'l bastard" "mommy I'm hungry" "Debra, did you hear about what happened down by the river last night" "Hey, Paul, how's it goin' bud?" My head starts spinning right round right round and I feel the urge to upchuck. Is it the discomfort of being different, of not being different, of certain uncertainty, of uncertain certainty, of returning back to point 0, the bittersweet passage of time. "Mr. T, well, I do declare, they say you went far away, they's right when they said you was most likely to get the hell out of here, you back?, gotta wife, some kids? How your parents doin'?"

Well, that's the only change. My mother shakes and spins, sleeps without wanting to wake up, cries, and spits... I guess that happens after 80 years of monotony, running around silly like a rat in a cage, having too much meatloaf, fitting in that diverse mixture of people. She comes to. Tell me what's going on in town? Well, mom. They opened the new Kroger's. Who's _____ the manager? _______ I think. Well, that boy will make something out of himself yet. I remember when he was just pushing around buggies. Yes, I'm sorry. I'm sorry too, mom.

Dad comes in. You. I wanna go home. I know you do. I want my car. I know you do. I wanna drive with your mom down to the river. I know you do. I want my money. I know you do. I wanna get out of here. I know you do. I don't deserve to end up like this. I know you don't. I'm sorry, dad. I'm angry, going from one room to the other and looking at those four walls.

Rontay

Easter Sunday 2010

Well, here I go again. Another doomy blog. Honestly when I set this up, I thought I would be posting lots of cool things but it turns out that I'm using my space here to vent out my frustrations and organize my thoughts. Easter Sunday is only good I guess if you're a child, have children, are part of some big family, or perhaps are the really religious type. I do have fond childhood memories of the Easter bunny, chocolate eggs, Easter egg hunts and all that stuff. We all used to get dressed up in new clothes, usually white, my mom always said it was the time of year you put away your winter wardrobe and got out your summer one, and if necessary go on shopping sprees to get new outfits and show them all off.... to people at church.... to people around town... to cousins and aunts.... why was this custom so important? And after mass, and egg hunts and easter bunnies, there was always some big feast with a smorgasboard (no idea how to spell that omg) but I do remember there was always ham and deviled eggs, with cranberry juice served in itsy bitsy glasses. Later we'd make the day of it, go to a horse race I think, take a promenade along the river or walk through some nicely mowed park to check out the flowers that were about to bloom. Yeah, Easter! Traditions? Why am I getting so nostalgic? I honestly didn't even think about all that stuff till right now.
It's just because I guess, whatever, if you're alone, and living in France it really sucks! It is still cold, still rainy, there is nothing to do, everything is shut, everyone has disappeared lord knows where, no sign of any resurrection here. Sigh!
The real coup de grace for my morale was the phone call to my parents at the nursing home. I'm not the only one sad and alone, but at least they don't even remember that everything that characterized their life for so many years and was so important for them, is gone.... Today my mom was brain dead. I really tried to have a conversation with her. I ended up sounding like the cop interrogating a suspect that just would not answer. So what this and what that and when and where and how and why? All I could get from her was a uh-huh, yes honey, and a few I don't knows. It's terrible to get like that. As for my dad, well, he was talkative today. But I've got to follow him into wonderland. Nothing he says is even remotely connected to reality. But I got a half hour out of him, going from navy stories, to WWII, to car accidents in the 1960's that might (not) have really happened, to conversations with nurses and guests and doctors that might (not) be real, to family gossip, and future plans, and his vision of reality.... all of which is completely bogus, I think. Talking to him confuses me so much, but I happily followed him into his world. Nobody else will. I owe him that.
So, all of this musing brings me back to the point/doubt/idea that has been in my mind unanswered for several months now. Could I possibly return home, take them out of that nursing home, move in with them in their old house, take care of them (with all that entails and implies... getting them up and dressed, maybe bathing them, certainly given them shots, medicine, cooking, cleaning etc. etc.) indefinitely? Sigh. sigh. It would please them, it would please others, maybe it would please me too?, it wouldn't please my sister(s) but f*** them. Just maybe it would have good results, just maybe it would be a success story, maybe a bit of love and care from me would do wonders. It would at least save them from losing all their estate from greedy health care workers... Just maybe, this is the right decision to take and the right thing to do.... But just maybe also, I would fail... I'm not a nurse by any exaggeration of the term. Giving shots of insulin? Well, terrifying as it might be I could do it. Restraining them if they want to leave, how aweful. Just maybe 24/7 looked in a house with them would kill me before them. So I here we are again with my yes, no, maybes. Wouldn't it be nice? Literally or sarcastic?
Easter Sunday in Metz, France 2010. Great
Rontay