YF

Woke with a colossal headache so, this morning’s post is this – screen caps from yesterday’s repeat viewings of Young Frankenstein (complete with those nice yellow captions which I think are in arial or gill sans semi bold – ya know – just in case you’re a font geek like me. And yes, yur quite welcome!).

Why did I have YF on auto repeat (like I need a reason)? Well, Mister Wilder moved on to the  big comedy picture show in the sky. He’s no more.

For those of you keeping score (like ME!), Wilder got to live nine more years on this strange, beautiful planet than my sweet, wonderful, wise, giving, handsome, funny man, The Amazing Bob. And to answer the question that I just know’s hovering at the front of your brain pan, no, I don’t seem to be able to let even one post go by without mentioning my beloved TAB. What? What?!

So…em…*cough*…on to those screens caps:

Marty Feldman's EYE-gor might well be my fave character.

Unless of course it's Cloris Leachman's Frau Blücher.

Wilder was such a great straight man in this flick!

 Ah geez, I think I gotta watch it again today. Possibly, very likely, this'll be followed by a few rounds of Blazing Saddles.

Me and Alice

Found this poem by my Amazing Bob yesterday –  day 56 of No TAB Inna Houz.

Afflicted
I’m afflicted by the red eye
    And the creeping crud
My junkyard heart is jury-rigged
    While the prostate’s shot to hell
Osteoarthritis
    Keeps advancing through my joint
If I’m in the mood for self-pity
    It will rarely disappoint
My lower back (like everyone’s)
    Gets crankier every year
My skin continues rusting out
    And these ears can hardly hear
To add insult to injury
    I’ve gotten kind of stout
I’m getting dumb and balder
    And my teeth are now take-out
Can hardly see ten yards these days
    And my brain is misaligned
I started out afraid of death
    But I’ve slowly changed my mind.
January 2013

I know, I really, really do, that I made the right decision – no extraordinary measures – it’s the choice TAB wanted.

Still…

Alice had a scream lodged in her throat, and if she gave vent it she would never stop. So she didn’t scream or weep or tear her hair or pound with her fists until they were bloody, though she wanted to do all those things. Instead she grabbed on to one thought and wouldn’t let go—every spell can be undone. She had to believe this, though she had no evidence of its truth. She had to believe that she could get Hatcher back. 

~ Christina Henry – Red Queen, The Chronicles of Alice

Me and Alice? We've got some serious shit in common.

Henry’s paragraph above really hit me last night. I read it just after I’d passed the 6:15 point. For me, sub in every mammoth, monstrous loss can be survived for every spell can be undone. Replace had to believe that she could get Hatcher back with must believe TAB, ethereally but clearly and solidly, lives on.

Without TAB by my side I’m, once more, in distrusting, mondo skeptic mode. Now though, I strive to see the full picture, all the angles and root causes. That's his influence, his presence.

Pre-TAB, I was a 24/7 Suspish-o-tron. After a childhood chock full of bullying girls and boys, disgustingly over-the-line teachers, coaches and “mentors,” friends who weren’t and three years with a traveling carnival, I became misanthropically hyper-wary and arch.

TAB was kind and giving but nobody’s doormat. He was cynical but not without hope. He showed me that it was possible to be strong, cautious, questioning AND open (or open-ish). Forgiving? Eh, dunno how relevant that is. When wronged I'm now able to let go of anger and move on but “forgiveness?” Greedheads, fartbrained asswipes and friends who prove that they are not, don’t get second chances. I learn my lessons well.

I’m not as quick with the sneers, jeers and condemnations but, hey, don’t tempt me (she writes with a grim, kinked out smile).

Donna had a scream lodged in her throat, and if she gave vent it she would never stop.

Caffe Amadeus

Before Jen and I left Indiana for the airport, we came across a nice surprise. We had enough time to stop in for a short visit with Poppy and figured we’d bring coffee and pastries. Where to go? Michal suggested we try Caffe Amadeus which was right on the main drag and totally on our way.

Wow. Pretty damned impressive for a small Appalachian town. OK, it would be pretty cool almost anywhere actually. The interior design reminded me of a tremendous little coffee shop in Krakow, whose name, all these years later, escapes me. Of course! Sadly, the joint doesn’t even turn up in my Google-snooping. Scheiße! They must be in the wind now.

But, back to Caffe Amadeus, the wee cakes here are far and away more amazing than anything you’ll ever find at Starbucks, Peets or Caribou Coffee Shops.

Caffe Amadeus has:
Cékla Torta!
Diós Torta!
Malakoff Torta!
Kokusz Chocolate Chip Kuglof!
Chocolate Raspberry Golyo!
And more! Click through the photos on their Facebook page and have a towel at hand – you’re gonna be drooling like Homer. Oh yes you will.

The tag on the Facebook page reads:

Caffe Amadeus is a European Style Coffeehouse. We are very passionate about coffee, roasting, customer service & baking!

The treats, Hungarian and Hungarian inspired, all look awesomely fab. If I lived in Indiana, I expect I’d be camped out here every morning and, oh yeah, about 40 pounds heavier.

Also too, the coffee – PERFECT! Reminded me of primo Italian Roast. There wasn't that burnt aftertaste that I find with Starbucks' (and their imitators) French Roast or the overly sugared, blech of Dunkin' Donuts' swill.

My only squawk about the place, and this is minor, is the floor. To really achieve that old world, Eastern European seraglio coffee house look/feel, they ought to have deeply mature, threadbare Turkish carpets everywhere – small and large, overlapping and colorful. They’d warm the place up and be a further invitation for folks to stay, sit and, yes, order one more piece of Orangentorten for the road.

So then, if you’re in Western Pennsylvania, this place is totes worth visiting. Repeatedly. You can find them at 628 Philadelphia Street, right across from the courthouse. It looks like they’re open daily from 7AM to 5PM.

OK, one more kvetch, they should be open evenings and offer vino and veggie Palacsinta, Pogácsa, Túrós Csusza, Lecsó and, OF COURSE, Rántott Sajt!

Hi Honey, I’m Home

God, it was a zillion and one half kinds of painful to, after the fast trip to see Poppy, not be able to walk in my front door and sing out my presence with authority. This trip was, in many ways, a 52 hour long trigger which struck me as funny (NOT funny hah-ha of course). The Amazing Bob was never able to go on these Daddy sojourns with me so, what up with all the sob sparkers?

Anytime I was away from TAB, even for a a day, we set our tinyphones afire with texts. On waking, I’d electro-greet him with Morning Hunny Pie! Take your pills. Feed the cats. Feed you. LYM (Love you madly). To which he’d reply, amongst other things, NYB (need you badly). For the rest of the day. ‘cept while I was in Pop’s company, we’d continue our casual, wayfaring convo.

While driving home from the airport, I’d always send a warning Home in 30 minutes. Ixnay the dancing girls now, now. NOW! This being our running wag – that, the minute I left town he’d, on the sly, invite the Rockettes (all of 'em!) over for fun and games. I always knew, just KNEW though. The stray sequins in the carpet were a dead giveaway. Hmmmph!

This time around there no warning text to him from me, no Ooops, calling them a cab now! from TAB.

I walked in the door to Coco’s petulant And where’ve YOU been mien and Rocco’s shunning pout No, no, I’m NOT coming outta the closet. You left me ALONE for longer than an hour! Just FYI, Oni was home taking good care of my formally dressed beast babies. They got breakfast, lunch, dinner AND treats but, I know, it’s not the same as having your own personal doormat and cossetter at 24/7 beck and call. Poor dears!

All in all, the journey was triple plus hard. Was it too soon for me to travel? Should I have stayed home with my grief, my knitting, cats and binge watching of The Big Bang Theory instead? Eh, I’m of two minds on how to handle this grief shit.

On one hand, I can stay home in my cottage cocoon and only emerge for cat food runs, dawn pic snapping and the odd trip into town to see Janice. I can weep, howl and go full blown Niagara all I want/need in the privacy of my own private Valhalla. On the other, maybe it’s good to get up and out – embrace the world but, at the same time, be mindful. Take a slower pace. Ya know, leap back into the world but go easy on myself. Breathe deep and don't pack the schedge.

I like option deux. Life without TAB’s gonna be painful plus no matter what. Nothing’s easy, simple or stress-free right now. I may as well re-embrace life, do fresh things, meet new and old friends, find sparkling painting inspirations. And then come home, take a nap with the cats and have a good cry.

Yup. I can do this.

In Praise of Sheetz

Sort of...

Jen and I are back in the land of porn shops, gun emporiums and big box "Christian" churches. I'd think there was nothing more around this part of the state if all I did was drive from the Pittsburgh Airport to my father’s small, rural college town along Route 22.

There’s a much prettier, less tawdry way from airport to Indiana but I never recall the precise "rowt," as they say 'round here.

On the way, we stopped at Sheetz (WHAT a name!) for a cuppa only to be assaulted by mondo amounts of BIG ass, cheap cookies, doughnuts, whoopie pies and jelly roll logs PLUS “Fryz and Chicken Stripz,” “Pretzel Meltz,” “Shwings” (??’the fuck are those???) and “Nachoz.” Note: the Food Namer (that’s GOT to be an actual job title) has been inconsistent in their use of “z”s in place of “s”s. Heavens!

From the Sheetz website:

It's a popular belief that you can't get great tasting food at a convenience store. At Sheetz, we like to turn such conventions on their heads. We have developed a made-to-order food program that rivals any quick serve restaurant you've ever visited. We use only the highest quality ingredients and prepare your food exactly the way you like while you wait.

Jake the Wonder Dog

Ummmm, yeah. The place is junk food nirvana and for exactly that, I love it! What did Jen and I get when we stopped here? Coffee. Just coffee. Yeah, the grand selection of calorie laden, mega sodium charged, super saturated sugary treats fried my brain. I couldn’t decide! OR maybe, possibly, I was having a moment of self control. Hey, those DO so happen...sometimes. OK, they really, honestly could.

Do these sorts of things, rural gas station/convenience stores/fast, junk food heavens, exist in Massachusetts? I've lived in the state for most of my long life but I don't recall ever coming across empty calorie Elysian fields quite like Sheetz.

And you can get discounts on chewing tobacco here too. Jesus, people actually indulge in that shit? I don't imagine they get a lot of sexytime action with a mouth full of that disgustamundo crap.

It was a shockingly sunny day, Friday, as we touched down at Pittsburgh airport – highly unusual as it ALWAYS rains in Western Pennsylvania at the weekend. It did in my high school marching band days but I believe I mentioned that already. Sun? Here? On a Friday? UNpossible! Has everything and everyplace gone wobbly crazy since my beloved TAB's exit stage left!? Ah, not to worry. As we approached Indiana, the clouds rolled in. Ahhhh, overcast, just as it should be.

Last night, Jen and I motored out to Idaho – the hamlet located about 30 minutes from my father’s town versus the 2,000+ mile away state – to see our dear chum Michal. We often stay with her when we come to see Pop. Not only does she have five gorgeous cats, she has the best dog EVAH – Jake. Also too, she’s a blindingly awesome cook (veggie lasagna last night!!!) AND she keeps a bottle of Jamo on hand for me. LOVE Michal!

Jen and I will see Poppy again this morning before heading back to the airport. Obvs we’ll be stopping at Sheetz along the way.

Michal's patch of paradise

Yarn Addict

Heading to Western Pennsylvania to visit mon père today. Did you know? Supposedly knitting needles are allowed on planes. Now then, do these not look like weapons? Do these, somehow, NOT look like they could stab a person dead?

Even if an item is generally permitted, it may be subject to additional screening or not allowed through the checkpoint if it triggers an alarm during the screening process, appears to have been tampered with, or poses other security concerns. The final decision rests with TSA on whether to allow any items on the plane. (source)

Knitting needles might prove more difficult because a rare security person might consider them a weapon. This doesn't happen very often. The easiest way to prevent problems is to bring plastic or bamboo hooks and needles, as these are less likely to appear threatening than aluminum or steel supplies. (source)

So then, I zipped off to the craft shop yesterday for bamboo needles. Yes, I’ve become a knitting addict. It’s très calming and beats the hell out of stuffing my gob with unneeded calories. I know I'd breeze through security with a bag 'o' Mint Milanos – will I make it through whilst packing bamboo knitting needles? We'll see.

Ya know, I hear tell all the cool kids have succumbed to Knit Mania now.

Huh. When did knitting become a thing, a fad and why am I, as uzh, so late to the party?

Once seen as the mark of growing old, knitting is now becoming a fast-growing fad among the Facebook generation.

Knitting parties, where 20-and-30-somethings meet to chat and make woolly creations are now all the rage: a Google search brings up pages and pages of knitting events, as well as access to free knitting patterns galore for anyone who wants to host their own.  (source)

OK, ‘scuse me, gotta pack and jet. Cheers!

How I navigated being homeless while deaf

When we last heard from Felicity, she was on her way to Rosie's Place. Here's what happened next.
~~~~~~~~~
I went to Rosie's Place on July 1st 2011. They are a woman-only shelter with 20 beds, awarded by a lottery system. If you win a bed, you are allowed to stay for 21 consecutive days. I arrived around 7:30 am and stood in line with about a dozen other woman, all ages, all races. They had 3 beds available. They handed us each a numbered playing card, then drew numbers. Miraculously I won a bed on my first attempt.

The other 2 women became my new roommates, along with a fourth woman that was already staying at the shelter. One of my roommates was middle-aged, she'd been living in her car after getting laid off, my other roommate was in her 30's, her boyfriend had abandoned her after moving with her to Boston from the Dominican Republic. My fourth roommate was middle-aged and had a full-time job at Macy's.

At some point during our stay, my roommate who had been living in her car, developed a serious kidney problem. Her leg swelled like a log, and she had to be transferred to the hospital. When our Macy's roommate's stay ended, her bed was taken by a young recovering addict.

At this point in time, I was getting bi-weekly chemo infusions (Editor's note: one of the new treatments for Neurofibromatosis Type 2 is chemo!), and swallowing gobs of prescribed Carbamazepine, an anti-convulsant, to treat The Worst Pain Known to Man. So on top of the stress of being homeless, I was enduring extreme pain and fatigue.

We were not allowed to stay in our rooms during the day. We were required to leave at 8am and be back by 6pm. If you didn't adhere to the rules, you'd lose your bed.

No one cares if you have brain tumors, are deaf, are getting infused with poison to save your life. No one gets special treatment when you're homeless.

Shelter employees are not medical professionals. They are mostly ignorant about disability and disease. They treat homeless clients like criminals.

One day I returned to the shelter and entered the dining room with a bottle of water, it was the middle of July, blazing hot.. The kitchen manager began screaming at me. I said, I'm deaf, I don't understand. She continued raging at me, until I finally deduced that my 16.9 oz, half-full water bottle from CVS, was prohibited contraband. How naive of me. //snark//
 
Another time a supervisor instructed guests to go downstairs. We roomed on the 3rd floor, I went down to the first floor. The counselor came down and began screaming,

counselor: What are you doing down here?!?!?!
 
me: I'm sorry I'm deaf, you said go downstairs.

counselor: NOT THE 1ST FLOOR, THE 2ND FLOOR!!!

Once a week there was a medical clinic. I went one day, ailing my ass off, to ask if I could be transferred to Boston Healthcare for the Homeless facilities. The answer was no, because I didn't require in-patient care.
~~~~~~~~~~
Felicity's story will continue.
 
Just FYI, here are some other shelters for women in Boston:
Project Hope
Sancta Maria House For Women – no website listed (that I could find) but here’s the phone number 617-423-4366
Woods-Mullen Shelter

Sun and the Moon

Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.
~ Shel Silverstein

Hold fast to dreams,
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird,
That cannot fly.
~ Langston Hughes

Life's under no obligation to give us what we expect.
~ Margaret Mitchell 

Only in the darkness can you see the stars.
~ Martin Luther King Jr.

In a time of destruction, create something.
~ Maxine Hong Kingston

Hope is a waking dream.
~ Aristotle

Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed.
~ G.K. Chesterton

You will lose someone you can’t live without,and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.
~ Anne Lamott

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.

At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me.
~~~
The death of a beloved is an amputation.
 ~~~
For in grief nothing "stays put." One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral?

But if a spiral, am I going up or down it?

How often -- will it be for always? -- how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, "I never realized my loss till this moment"? The same leg is cut off time after time.
~ C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed 

So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.
~ E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly

To weep is to make less the depth of grief.
~ William Shakespeare, King Henry VI, Part 3

And I can't be running back and fourth forever between grief and high delight.
~ J.D. Salinger, Franny and Zooey

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
~ Kahlil Gibran

Given the choice between the experience of pain and nothing, I would choose pain.”
~ William Faulkner, The Wild Palms

If you know someone who tries to drown their sorrows, you might tell them sorrows know how to swim.”
~ H. Jackson Brown Jr., P.S. I Love You 

love
iz
a
big
fat
turkey
and
every
day
iz
thanksgiving
~ Charles Bukowski, What Matters Most is How Well You Walk Through the Fire 

Though lovers be lost, love shall not; And death shall have no dominion.
~ Dylan Thomas (whoever he was)

When the sun has set, no candle can replace it.
~ George R.R. Martin

The Amazing Bob was my sun...moon too.

Reading Matter

Ever since that awful week, The Amazing Bob’s last on this blue marble Earth, I haven’t been reading my usual political blogs as much. Of course!

Trump and his band of butthurt, violent, angry white male followers are, yes, scary as all hell but, next to the blinding pain of losing TAB…meh. They seem pretty damned irrelevant. Trump’s not gonna win in November and, hopefully, the Senate and maybe even (I hope, I hope, I HOPE) the House will go blue as well.

This will only happen if all us sane folk get out and VOTE though. Do it! On November ninth, this disgustingly miscreant piece of revoltingly vile humanity and all his dimwitted minions should be no more than sad jokes. They are, and I'm being way charitable here, embarrassments to the human race.

Instead of reading about all that, I’m paying a lot more attention to my kittens. Of course I am. They miss our Amazing Bob – the once and future king of cat cosseters – almost as much as I do. Just FYI, yesterday was the seven week point. I've been without my MOST wonderful and incredible Bob for seven weeks now. Every day is like driving on pitted, unpaved roads through a mine field...in a car with busted struts.

So, instead of Trumpian outrage/idiocy/crimes against humanity du jour, I’ve been following John Cole of Balloon Juice’s pet rescue tales. Jesus, the man’s a saint.

He recently found a grossly neglected, abused dog living in a fixer upper he’d just purchased. John began feeding, caring for and just generally loving up this poor boy. He named him Walter, took him to the vet a number of times and found him a forever home. Walter’s close to being healthy and happy now, thanks to John’s care.

This, this is more helpful reading right now.

What else am I eyeballing? Just finished Leonard: My Fifty-Year Friendship with a Remarkable Man by that side of ham, masquerading as an actor, William Shatner and his co-"author," David Fisher. Interesting read at points but two things stuck out:

1) Do major publishing houses no longer employ proofreaders and editors? There were more than a few examples of graceless sentence structure and incorrect word usage. Thomas Dunne Books is a McMillan imprint. They couldn’t bother to edit a celebrity authored, sure-to-be-bestseller or did they just cheap out, figuring that Trekkies wouldn’t notice?
2) I would’ve liked to have read more about Nimoy and Shatner’s relationship. Yes, they were chums for a long time but, ya know, MORE anecdotes, pleez! The book mostly skimmed the surface, talking more about the business – Shatner and Nimoy’s careers. Yawn – read this already!

I’m just about done. Next book in my pile is Red Queen by Christina Henry. This story follows her book Alice which I LOVED!

Escapism – I'm all about that shit right now. That and sitting on the seawall steps at dawn. You're welcome.

What Damn Season Are We In?!

When is football season? Now that my beloved Amazing Bob is gone, I don’t know. Why is this important? It’s not really. I’m just remembering late August days when I’d come inside to find him engrossed in a game that was NOT baseball. I’d begin my annual rant.

It’s still baseball season dammit! Why are these steroidal freaks on TV now? It's not fucking time yet! Hell’s bells, it’s 85º out. You can’t play football in hot weather – it’s got to be played when the leaves begin to change color and there’s a crispness to the air. BASEBALL. It’s baseball season! Dammit!

And then, my beautiful TAB would smile that beautiful, transcendent smile of his  – enjoying the theatrics as I faux-stormed upstairs to read.

Officially, football begins on begin on Thursday, September 8, 2016 but pre-season games have already happened.

On Thursday, August 11, the Saints lost to the Pats 22 –34
On my birthday, August 18th, the Bears lost to the Pats 22 – 23

TAB would be happy about this. Me? I don’t care for football but I mentioned that already.

Baseball season isn’t officially over until Sunday, October 2, 2016. So there.

From The Amazing Bob:

Beautiful Catch
While playing left field last week
I made an elegant, leaping, last second catch;
The ball slapped securely into my glove,
But my timing was off: I made the catch
About 20 years to late.
I crashed to the grass like a tranquilized giraffe.
My knee is healing slowly.
The pain remains like a string around my finger,
reminds me that even amateur athletes
must age gracefully
or pay Father Time
Leg-breaker rates.
8/92

Baseball isn’t a life and death matter but the Red Sox are.
~ Mike Barnicle

Here are two other recently found poems of TAB’s.

Several Ways of Saying Different Things
I.
Being married was like taking a foreign language course
that I never passed, never completed, never quite understood,
“What time is it?”

“The pen of my aunt is on the table.”
“If you really loved me you…”
Fill in the blank
II.
I was like one of those characters in the Wizard of Oz
looking for my soul
but not really sure I had one.
Dorothy never showed up
so I did the dishes every day.
III.
My parents never had food fights:
They ate, cleaned their plates
then threw the dishes at each other.
IV.
My wife couldn’t get what she wanted from me
So she turned to food.
The food ate her.
V.
It took nearly fifty years but I’m learning to take nourishment.
I never knew it could taste this good
2/91

Just FYI, the wife in the poem above is TAB’s first one. Not me…just so’s ya know.

Italian Countess (for Donna)
She’s a tough Italian Countess though some folks don’t know her name;
She’s a real committed artist; you can see her joy and pain.
She could’ve lived in Paris hangin’ out with Jean Paul Satre
But went instead to Pittsburgh learning how to do her art.
She settled down in Boston, got a condo and a cat;
Don’t treat her like a yokel ‘cause she’ll tell you where it’s at.
Plays baseball when she wants to, likes to get inside my head;
She’ll cook for me on Sundays – or I’ll cook for her instead.
I love the way she giggles; drives me crazy when she cries;
She plays classics on her flute; got the most delicious thighs.
I love it when she’s playful, adore her when she’s wise.
Spent a lot of time adrift in the magic of her eyes.
She’s a sweet Italian Countess; Lord, I dig her style in bed.
She’s good for me like music, like a loaf of home-baked bread.
We’re learning how to argue, how to share and when to trust;
Learned to pick out shades of grey, and I’ll want her till I’m dust.
7/90

This is my 56th day without The Amazing Bob. Life without him is a thin, pale, molto sad, dull thing and, boyhowdy, that’s a colossal understatement.

On Becoming Homeless (while deaf)

I asked Felicity, How did you become homeless? What was the lead up?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In 2011 I had been living in Allston with three guys. A cab driver/artist, a stoner who worked at the Tootsie factory, and a scumbag piece of shit who worked in sales at the Herald.

I had moved to Allston in February 2010. In 2009 I had a swift and drastic hearing loss in my "good" ear (already deaf in the other). I left Western, MA to be closer to MGH and the Neurofibromatosis clinic. I'd heard about a clinical trial for Avastin, which could possibly restore my hearing. I wanted to participate.

In 2008-2009 I was working at Springfield Public Schools as a substitute teacher. I had intended to go back to school and get licensure to become an actual teacher. I wanted to teach English as a Second Language. I had my preliminary teaching license and needed my subject license. My best friend's wife is a teacher and gave me tons of resources and study materials.Then when I learned the test was administered by audio, I bailed. My hearing was way too far gone.

At the same time the Springfield Public School System didn't ask me to return. My hearing was total shit and I had no control over the kids – I subbed at the high school level. I also required tons of days off for MRI's, Audiograms and other medical needs.

So when the school system didn't ask me to come back, I filed for unemployment but was told substitutes are not eligible for unemployment. I'd always been good with money and had enough savings to move to Boston and set up while I looked for a job.

I never found a job even though I worked tirelessly sending applications. I applied for sub jobs in Boston and Cambridge on a weekly basis. One thing about being deaf – you'll find most people will refuse email contact. This happens with apartment hunting as well.

I lived on the little savings I had. My dad told me I should apply for Social Security. The Social Security Administration had the audacity to tell me "you can hear," and they denied my application. I had sent them doctor's notes from MGH and audiograms from MEEI, and they had the fucking balls to call me a liar!

Unbelievable!

Editors note: !!!!!!!!!!!

I was in Allston for 17 months. Twice I almost ran out of money, and thought I was doomed. Once I made it through with funds from my tax-return. Another time, I "struck gold" when I remembered a little money I had stashed in a 401K.

Finally on July 1st of 2011, I was totally broke. The timing could not have been better because a couple weeks earlier my scumbag roommate assaulted his girlfriend in our apartment.

I was awoken, one night, by a deep, visceral growling noise. I got up to investigate and outside my bedroom door, scumbag John was growling at his girlfriend and she was bawling. I asked, "what's going on out here?" John just looked at me and they both moved up the stairs to his room.

I woke up the next morning and saw cop cars and a paddy wagon on the street below. I went outside my room and saw a trail of blood going down the stairs. I looked out the window again, and Johns girlfriend was crying hysterically talking to the police. Meanwhile John was in handcuffs, being led into the paddy wagon. The police entered our apartment and interviewed me. I told them what had happened the night before.

Later that day John returned to our apartment. He showed no remorse or shame for beating his girlfriend. I learned later that he also threatened to kill her. It was his girlfriend who had bailed him out.

Editors note: !!!!!!!!!!! Jesus. Typical and desperately sad.

I discussed the situation with my other roommates. The stoner roommate thought John deserves another chance. My artist roommate was more neutral and removed – he usually stayed with his girlfriend and didn't spend much time at the apartment.

I spoke to our landlord, who was utterly indifferent. I was adamant that one of us had to go. John refused to leave, and the landlord had no problem with domestic violence. So I left.

On July 1st I went to Rosies Place.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There's more to the story. New in town, without a safe home, job or solid friend and freshly deaf – how did Felicity navigate this challenging world? We'll find out!

Q&A

On Facebook (or ShoutyFace as Tbogg calls it) there’s another one of those Q&A things going around. “Let's have some fun and learn about each other” it reads, followed by questions. And no, the questions don't reveal anything deep at all – they're light and airhead-y. Suitable for wedding shower games and parties that end in Spin the Bottle or hair and make-up experiments.

I figured I’d just post mine here (because OF COURSE you want to know what MY brill *cough* answers are!):

1. ARE YOU NAMED AFTER SOMEONE? My mother’s father Donato, who she, by the by, hated. Foreshadow much, Lucy? I should have been named Reptilicus Ripley Maderer. Now that's a name that'd give a kid the advantage on the unfair, violence packed playground! Amirite or amirite? Hint: you know I am!

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? The question should be when was the last time you didn’t cry. The Amazing Bob’s gone, dead in fact. Have I, perchance, not mentioned that? I feel certain I may’ve.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? No. What kind of get-to-know-you-question is that? Does the answer tell any of us anything interesting or substantial? No. Not unless the writer’s a calligrapher. I’d be interested in that.

In this digital age, this time of the keyboard, does anyone write anything out by hand at all? At best, on a good day, my handwriting resembles one of those scrawl-y handwriting fonts.

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? Lunch meat? No, no, no. Vegetarian here.

5. DO YOU HAVE ANY KIDS? Do cats count? If so, two plus one visitor feline who gets regular meals.

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? //shrugs// If I was another person (I'm not inclined to go all existential on a Saturday morning), would I be the type who enjoys opinionated, deaf, semi-fluorescent personality-ed, artist types? Who knows?

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? Noooooooooooooo! Nevah!

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Again, WTF? How does this query provide a window into a person’s being. Answer – it does nothing of the kind. You’re welcome. Also, yes, I've a full complement of tonsils. Happy?

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? FUCK NO!

10. WHAT IS YOUR CEREAL? Bob had Frosted Mini Wheats each morning. Christ, I miss pouring him a bowl of cereal. Me? Nope, I'm not the cereal type.

 

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Yes, though I rarely wear shoes with laces. Vans – I wear Vans!

12. DO YOU THINK YOU'RE STRONG? As compared with who? Am I as strong as Helen Keller? Hilary Clinton? Boudica? Catherine the Great? Harriet Beecher Stowe? Shirley Chisolm? I’m no push over, no weak sister but I’m also no Benazir Bhutto. Duh.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM? Lemon sorbet unless it’s cookie dough or mint chip or French vanilla or….em, s’cuse me, gotta run up the street to the ice cream shop now. DAMN you!

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? Overall appearance and body language.

15. RED OR PINK? Depends on the hue, the shade. Generally reds though.

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF? My skin. Looks MUCH better on Edward James Olmos.

17. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? One fish, two fish Seuss pajamas. No shoes at the moment.

18. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE? Coffee and then, some more coffee.

19. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? The sounds in my head

20. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?  At the moment, red violet. I may be yellow green in moments though. Brace yourself!

 

21. FAVORITE SMELLS? In no particular order, low tide, lemons, patchouli, lilacs, weed, TAB.

22. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? I haven’t been on the phone in more than ten years so //shrugs//

23. FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH? Sports? Sorry…no.

24. HAIR COLOR REAL? Yes, except for the small patch of purple up front

25. EYE COLOR? Weak tea sitting in the early morning sun.

26. DO YOU WEAR GLASSES? Yes but I often go without because I like seeing the world in a softer, fuzzed focus.

27. FAVORITE FOOD? Anything Oni or Erin make for me. Used to be, anything that TAB made for me. He was a kitchen god. He made stellar curries, amazing carrot cakes and oatmeal, spinach carrot cookies that’d make you flat out swoon with joy.

28. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? Both. I can have both, right?

29. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? Suicide Squad

30. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Lavender – it’s a T-shirt from St. Fratelli’s!

31. SUMMER OR WINTER? Ummm, Spring, Fall and Winter? I’m mostly *meh* about Summer ‘cept for the swimming and wearing shorts parts.

32. HUGS OR KISSES? Hugs AND kisses both!

33. FAVORITE dessert ?? ALL of them!

34. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU CURRENTLY READING? Leonard: My Fifty-Year Friendship with a Remarkable Man by William Shatner and Kink Me by Martin Millar – nope, I ain’t particularly deep.

35. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? Mouse pad? Nope, haven’t had one in eons.

36. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST? An episode of Grimm.

 
37. FAVORITE SOUNDS? I remember loving the sound of waves – crashing OR just gently lapping the shore, thunder, the wind in the trees and, most of all, TAB's voice – he had a big time sexy, mellow, resonant, midnight jazz DJ voice.

38. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Both! And Led Zep too. 

39. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME? Dunno. Krakow, Poland? Chianciano Terme in Italy? The moon? (OK, that last one was just in a dream)

40. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? Diplomacy and calm in the face of wanting, nay, NEEDING to rip someone’s intestines out through their left nostril with a snail fork.

41. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? New Haven, Connecticut

41 questions – what an odd number.