Several years ago I discovered the fun of roasting my own coffee beans. I do it with a Orville Redenbacher popcorn maker. Here is a YouTube video of it in action:
Roasting coffee beans in my popcorn maker
Monthly Archives: April 2016
Susan
Susan was stuck there, staring through the windshield across the street. Everything around her continued, the radio boomed an eighties tune that she didn’t hear, her van thrummed below her. She had two packets of Sweet and Low in her right hand, slapping them against her thigh, she was in the middle of sweetening her coffee when it happened.
“Dang.”
Hilson cemetery – right there across the street from McDonalds. Susan was on her way to meet a girlfriend at the YMCA, Tuesdays and Thursdays at 9 AM for a forty minute swim.
She knew exactly how many friends and relatives she had in that graveyard, five assorted aunts, uncles and her father on the Catholic side, her husband called them the ‘blessed dead’ and one friend on the non-Catholic side, the “not so” blessed dead. Maggie. It was nearly a year since she’d died and Susan had yet to return to Maggie’s grave, how could she be surprised that she was sitting here directly across from that cemetery?
Maggie, head wrapped in that damn Chicago Bears scarf looked at Susan with clear blue eyes floating in an emaciated skull:
“Go home Suzy – go on, this will pass.”
Maggie had long passed the stage where she was able to vomit anything up, it was just painful retching now. This last chemo treatment was the worst, Susan was sure she would die that night. She feared it and prayed for it all the while feeling guilty over her emotions.
God, I’m fucked up, she thought as she wiped Maggie’s face.
“I’m serious Suzy!!, moaned Maggie, “Go on home, how am I gonna get any sleep with you here?”
“I will in a couple a minutes Mags.”
Susan tilted a glass towards Maggie, its straw aimed at her face, “drink – they said we have to watch out for dehydration.” Reluctantly, Maggie leaned forward and drew on the straw, her gaze traveling past Susan unfocused. Looking at what, thought Susan? Maggie had started doing this recently, just staring into space. Susan wondered what she saw but was afraid to ask, somewhere she’d read about “the thousand yard stare” but that was for Vietnam vets wasn’t it? PTS victims .. well maybe having cancer qualified her.
Falling back on the cushions Maggie whispered: “I don’t know why you do all this, Suze.”
“Yes you do, Mags; besides it makes me feel useful.”
“Yeah,” she sighed “I forgot this is all about you,” she chuckled. “You selfish bitch.”
Susan snapped back. Unstuck now, she tore the Sweet and Low packages open and poured them into her coffee.
“OK Mags, here I come.”
She reversed the van, took the swizzle stick out of her cup, tossed it and the sweetener packets towards the little wastebasket on the floor. As she crossed the street and entered the gates of Hilson graveyard she took a long drink from her ceramic coffee cup sporting the words “Selfish Bitch.”
Margaret Reynolds was buried about three hundred yards away and to the south from the main gate of Hilson cemetery, her headstone was simple. Name, birth date, date of death.
No flowers or cherubs for Maggie, “None of that fancy shit” she had demanded.
Jim, Maggie’s ex-husband had called Susan a couple of months ago to tell her that the stone was in place. He had still been on Maggie’s only insurance policy when she was diagnosed with thyroid cancer, and surprisingly he had carried through on his promise and paid for her funeral and the stone.
“Oh, OK– well ” stammered Susan, “I’ll have to get out there and look at it.”
“How are you doing?” she had asked, giving her voice the correct amount of inflection, hoping to telegraph to Jim that she was just asking, don’t think I care, thought Susan. Maggie forgave you bud, but I didn’t. Mercifully he kept his answer generic and the conversation wrapped up without her having to call him all the names that Maggie wouldn’t. She had forgotten the whole telephone call until this morning.
Susan crossed the path and knelt down across from Maggie’s grave.
She brushed grass clipping away from the granite marker, leaning in to blow more of it out the the “R” in Reynolds.
“Oh Mags .. now what?” she sighed.
Gazing across the sea of stones she could see a man riding one of those stand up lawn mowers, it droned on peacefully, tending the lawn needs of the dearly departed. She chuckled to herself at that thought. Soon tears bubbling up in the corners of her eyes, “don’t do this to me Maggie, I gotta meet Beth in twenty minutes. That girl’s got some kinda radar and she’ll be all over me if I show up with red eyes.” Minutes passed as Susan knelt there trying to feel something and nothing at the same time.
“Excuse me!”
Susan spun on her knees, what? An old woman stood not five feet from her, how she had gotten so close to Susan without Susan’s notice was something she would wonder about for days. She was dressed elegantly in a black dress, nylons, dress heels and dark veil. Oh God, I crashed a funeral, thought Susan, she took a quick inventory of her own clothes: grass stained white walking shoes, stretched out Old Navy tee shirt and green running shorts from JCPenney.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”.
The woman in black huffed: “Do you need something?” Not waiting for an answer she impatiently said “Can I help you?”
Susan stood up quickly and did a quick 360 looking for a clue as to what this old lady was talking about.
“I’m just visiting my friend here–” Susan paused as she pointed at Maggie’s grave.
Why do I need to explain this to her? she thought.
The old woman’s face was expertly made up, just the right foundation, blush, eyeliner and lipstick. She was beautiful actually, or at least it was clear she had been in years past, now she was mostly scary as she glared at Susan. Moments passed as they just stood there looking at each other. Out of the corner of her eye Susan saw the lawn mower guy gliding past headstones, looking for all the world as if he had no legs and traveled on one of those Segways. That’s funny, she thought I’ll have to tell Mags about this. Painfully she grimaced at her own grief, I’m not telling Maggie about this or anything else again. Susan broke the silence.
“Shit, I’m sorry — what — do we know each other?”
The old woman said nothing as she stared hatefully at Susan. Finally, her eyes blinked a few times and she turned on her heels, scuttling back to her car. Looking impossibly small behind the wheel the old woman backed up, pulled around Susan’s van and drove away slowly, her lips pursed in an almost straight crimson line, never looking again in Susan’s direction.
Can I retire and not die?
That’s the question isn’t it?
When I was younger I daydreamed of this time.:
“Imagine not having to get up to that damn alarm? Imagine being able to do what I want anytime I want.”
Yeah. Imagine that.
So now here it is. Retirement. I’m lucky to be here for starters, there was more than one time the chances of my living this long were right up there with the chances of the Lions going to the Super Bowl.
I’m also lucky I was able to stumble into a career that allowed me to get to this point, although in truth this is also a career where being a grey beard is not a plus. I think a fair amount of my co-workers eye me and wonder “When is this old fart going to give it up already?”
I’ve been through three different leadership changes and three different department names. I could tell you about that time we lost power three times in one day .. oh .. I see your eyes rolling up into your head. (Remember what I said about us grey beards?)
So OK. It’s time. I’ve tentatively been throwing July around but like a reluctant groom I haven’t bought the ring yet. Some of it is money. Not earning any is worrisome, but if I get low on dough I can get a job eh? But then hell if I’m gonna do that why retire at all? So maybe it’s not money – maybe it’s the question of what am I going to go with my free time. I’ve been fortunate to be able to work from home these last months and my wife is suffering deeply for it. Daily questions like “What’s for lunch” and “What do you think this thing on my neck is?” are taking a toll on her. I worry about her.
I could do some Olympic style napping, I’ve always wanted to catch up on my sleep but then what to do at night?
Who will I be once I’m retired? Ahh that’s it. That’s what is holding me back. I can be a husband, a dad, a grandpa and a dog owner. Those all have duties associated with them, not the least my dog owner duties, Champ the dog is plenty disgusted with me seeing as I only let him in and out of our patio door fifty times a day.
So, yeah I can stay busy and I guess I don’t care what I do as long as I’m not bored. Or dead.
Royce
Royce
“I knew you’d come,” the old man cackled as he wrapped bony fingers around Jerry’s arm.
“Here, come in here,” the old man dragged Jerry toward an open doorway. Jerry looked down to where the old guy had a hold of him. Damn, this old bastard’s got some grip. Jerry planted his feet and stood firm in the hallway.
“What can I do for you, pops?” Jerry asked, trying to reclaim his arm.
“Come on Jimmy . . . come in and sit down,” the old man let loose of Jerry’s arm and turned away. His arthritic fingers clawed the door frame as he made his way into the room. Tall at one time, the elderly gentleman walked in the stooped manner of a man in some pain. He began to reach for the footboard of his bed long before he actually got to it. Jerry could hear his labored breathing across the tiled floor.
“Huu, huu, huu,” he whistled, settling onto his bed. “Don’t just stand there boy, get in. . ,” he began coughing violently. The man bent over as if he might roll off the bed, his back heaved up and down with each tortured cough, while his feet tattooed the tiled floor. Jerry blinked at the gagging man for a moment before he turned and looked for someone to help. An old lady, bent over her walker, scraped down the otherwise empty hallway. There wasn’t a doctor or nurse in sight.
“Shit,” Jerry stepped back across the room and laid his hand on the old man’s bucking back.
“Take some deep breaths,” said Jerry. He rubbed the old man’s back. Slowly his coughing subsided and leaning over a green plastic wastebasket standing at his feet, the old man spit out a wad of phlegm.
“Take a deep breath – that’s some good advice for a dying man.” The old man leaned back on the bed. “Hell, you oughta be a doctor.”
“Would you like me to go find a doctor?” asked Jerry.
The old man shook his head slowly, disgusted.
“Doctor – that’s a hoot. Ain’t no doctors ‘round here boy. Doctors only come to this hell-hole to sign Medicare papers and pick up their checks. Now orderlies, we got all kinds of them thievin’ bastards . . . put a guy on a bed pan then stand right there in front of him and go through his drawers.” He put his hand on Jerry’s arm and lowered his voice, “Then they’ll call you a liar and walk outta this place with every damn thing you own.”
The old man sighed, resigned to his fate. Jerry looked about the room. Plush drapes adorned the windows, an easy chair sat along the far wall across from a small TV angled to afford a view to both the chair and the bed. An oak dresser stood directly adjacent to the bed, a matching oak wardrobe flanked the entrance to the room. This was not the furnishings of a poor man. It seemed unlikely a place like Northside Riverdale Care Facilities would employ thieves. Jerry ruminated about his grandmother’s last years in a nursing home far different from this one. That nursing home flat out told the family to take all of Grandma’s valuables with them when they left. It was expected that these items would be stolen otherwise. It was amazing, come to think of it, how easily we accepted that admission of dishonesty. Were we just so relieved to find someplace that would take her?
“Gimme a cigarette.” The old man broke into Jerry’s daydream.
“Huh?”
“A cigarette, gotta cigarette?” The old eyes looked hopefully into Jerry’s.
“I’m sorry I don’t smoke – never did.” Jerry apologized.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah good for you. Next time bring cigarettes.”
“Next time?” What the hell? “Look, you need…,” Jerry longed for the doorway, he longed for the comfort of his car, he longed for anywhere but here. “You sure you don’t want me to get someone for you, a nurse or a doctor maybe?”
The old man reared back and looked at Jerry as if he was seeing him for the first time. Clear green eyes glittered through the cough-induced tears. Something lay beyond those eyes. Something unpredictable. Jerry stepped back.
“God Jimmy, I don’t remember you being so damn stupid.”
Jerry’s face flushed. “Now you hold on there old-timer,” said Jerry stabbing his finger at the old man’s face. “My name isn’t Jimmy and I don’t need any crap from you.” Jerry turned to leave.
This is what you get when you try to help, no good deed shall go unpunished. Marty’s always said that and she’s right.
“Jimmy!”
Jerry wheeled around.
“Jerry.” Spat the younger man. “My name is Jerry. Look, I don’t know who the hell you think I am but – ” Jerry threw his arms up. “forget it man just….forget it.” He turned back for the door. This is crazy, I must be nuts trying to talk to this senile old. . .
“Don’t you dare walk away from me young man!” thundered the old man.
Jerry stopped in mid-stride, he could hear his pulse thrumming in his ears.
“I’m still your father, boy, and I can still whip your ass!” The old man was off the bed now and advancing on Jerry. His wild green eyes flashed. The power of the past became the power of the present and Jerry experienced fear long since forgotten as he stood there; the surrogate son of this deranged, angry, disturbed man. The old man stopped inches away from Jerry’s face.
“I was climbing stairs with jukeboxes on my back since before you were born. Think whatever you want about me boy but don’t you ever think you can just walk away from Royce Stilson!”
Sour breath wafted across Jerry’s face as the old man’s chest heaved in and out, white hair traced along the dome of his liver spotted scalp and lay plastered along the sun weathered creases on his forehead. For the briefest of moments, Jerry saw the younger man’s image hidden beneath the paper thin flesh of Royce Stilson.
“How old are you, sir?” Jerry didn’t know why he had asked his age. It just popped out of his mouth.
Royce’s shoulders suddenly dropped and his eyes flicked away from the younger man’s face. Turning back to his bed, Royce spoke, “I’m eighty-two this August you’d know – maybe you’d a known that if you’d come around more often.” He dropped on the bed.
“It’s my fault isn’t it?” Royce nodded sadly his eyes searching Jerry’s face, “Ok, yeah, well you’re right goddammit, Jimmy it’s all my fault.” Royce leaned forward and sobbed into his hands.
“Let me get someone to help you,” offered Jerry. The sobbing continued. “Royce,” Jerry raised his voice, “look I’m just going out in the hall for a
second – I won’t be long.”
“No, son please,” Royce dropped his hands. “you gotta understand, I never believed for a minute it would turn out this way. She was my wife!” The old man’s hands trembled before his face as he pleaded.
Jerry tried to explain, “Royce you don’t – I’m not your son, Royce. I’m not.”
“She was my WIFE! They had threatened before but I never thought they’d actually do it. Balducci hisself, Johnny Balducci stood on my – our front porch and told me everything was fixed. He lied to me and I believed him. God help me, I believed him Jimmy. ”
Royce’s lower jaw trembled as he relived the betrayal.
“You gotta understand, Jimmy she was everything to me just like she was everything to you. When they killed her . . .when they. . . oh Jesus, they killed me too.” Pain shimmered straight away from Royce, filling the room and clamping around Jerry’s stammering heart.
Oh man, this is bad. Jerry spun on his heels and shot for the door. As he turned into the hallway he heard Royce’s shout:
“But I got every one of those bastards Jimmy, they’re all in hell.”
Marty saw him burst from the building, pushing the doors wide, he took three steps and then stopped. Stopped like he forgot something.
For a minute she thought he was going to go back inside, he just stood there looking back at the glass doors. Twice she put her hand on the door handle to get out and twice she decided against it.
Finally her husband turned and walked across the parking lot, shoulders slumped, he didn’t look at her as he pulled the door open and dropped into the passenger seat.
She gave him until they were on I-94 and he still hadn’t spoken. Marty wasn’t going to wait forever, “So I guess it didn’t go so good, huh?”
He shook his head sadly. “Ah – he’s crazier than I thought, honey.”
“What? Did you guys fight …is he sick? Come on don’t make me pull it out of you.”
“He’s got Alzheimers I guess, hell he didn’t even recognize me Mart.. I knew this was a mistake.” he sighed deeply and turned his face to the window.
“Oh no, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you into this,” Marty clucked her tongue and stole a glance across the car to see her husband’s face, “Wow, Royce with old-timers disease, who’d of thought that would ever happen to him?”
“Yeah well, you can’t say we didn’t try,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
“Maybe it’s better this way,” She reached over and took his hand in hers. “ya think?”
“Yeah I think.” said Jimmy Stilson.