Hey ,
We had another death in the family and last week and so I traveled back to Cleveland for the funeral. It was my Aunt Jane, one of the finest ladies I’ve ever known and really an enigma because she was of the generation that, at parties, tended to keep the ladies together to do their thing — I have no idea what they did — and kept the men folk separate to watch football, pass gas, and scratch ourselves.
Amazing fact about Jane: she worked over 40 years for the same company and never missed a day. That includes the blizzards of 1977-78, which kept me home from school for a week.
She threw the loveliest, well-organized parties. Their house was always like a museum of recently acquired carpeting and furniture (no shoes in the house, please!). They served complete meals with real plates and saucers and whatnot — as opposed to my own family that had a wash tub of pop and a wash tub of beer, and my dad grilled burgers and hot dogs you ate out of hand. (I’m not complaining about our parties — they were a hoot — but just pointing out the differing approach to a good time.)
As the pastor mentioned in his meditation on Jane’s death, the attention she put into those parties was her way of expressing love for the family and friends. What she knew about me and my brothers she would have heard from my mom while they played pinochle or canasta or whatever the hell they did upstairs while we were all downstairs watching sportball.
The only thing I didn’t love about their house was that I was terrified to use the toilet, afraid I’d plug it up or pee on the shag carpeting (yes, they had shag carpeting in the guest toilet).
Anywho, she will be missed.
I think I’ve mentioned that my dog, Ollie, an Australian shepherd, is a handful. Barks like crazy at the site of other dogs and pretty much any animal or person, real or imagined. I tend to walk him late at night when there’s less chance of encountering people.
We’ve had a skunk in the yard a few times and twice Ollie got sprayed. Those little bastards are nocturnal so it turns my evening walks into a source of stress. As I walk the dog, I’m vigilantly checking each yard, looking at shrubs and between houses for any signs of movement. I’ve seen the skunk way too often, but at least with enough warning to avoid it.
After the second spraying in our backyard, I set out a live trap to catch the skunk. I probably used the wrong bait (bacon) because I caught a raccoon. That poor guy was none too happy to see me in the morning, and he scared the bejesus out of me as I opened the trap to let him loose.
Just tonight, not five minutes ago, I had Ollie out in the backyard and he danced like a lunatic beneath the apple tree. When I came over to drag him inside, I noticed an opossum in the tree, munching on the remaining apples. I really don’t need this wildlife adventure right now.
This past Saturday around midnight, Ollie and I turned the corner at the top of our street and I saw that the residents there were having a campfire in the backyard. Good for them.
But then a large dog charged at us from their campfire.
I shouted at the dog and at the neighbors as I pulled Ollie away. The dog came right up to Ollie and the scuffle started with teeth bared, lots of barking, and me screaming, trying to scare away the dog but also asking the neighbor to get their goddam fucking dog away from mine.
The two dogs never got into it beyond threatening barks, but I kept pulling Ollie back toward our house as the other dog made strafing runs at us, charging hard, snapping, then swooping away into the next yard. All the while I’m screaming, “GET YOUR GODDAM DOG!”
When I got a couple of houses further down the street, my neighbor made his way to the street and shouted, “THAT’S NOT MY DOG.”
“GREAT,” I replied, and then, “GET AWAY GODDAM IT,” as the stray made another pass.
“IT’S A STRAY,” my neighbor shouted.
“GOT IT!”
“IT JUST SHOWED UP IN OUR BACKYARD.”
“OKAY I FUCKING GET IT!”
It was a scene right out of Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid, the Steve Martin movie from around 1980, when his sidekick keeps offering Steve his pajamas while in the throes of a chase scene*.
I made it home, finally, when another neighbor came outside and the stray dog ran up to him, buying me some time and space to run down the street.
I wasn’t mad at the neighbor, at least not about the misunderstanding. It was clearly not his fault.
This is the neighbor who has a dog that, as far as I can tell, never gets a walk. I just hear him barking from inside the house as we go past. They also have a sign in the front yard scolding us about letting our dog pee on his lawn. (Not me, personally, but just a generic, “Does my dog pee on your lawn?” It’s actually a nice touch to use a passive aggressive admonition, us being in the midwest and all.)
The (too) many deaths we’ve seen this year has motivated me to do a little Swedish death cleaning. If you’re not familiar, it’s a tradition that, as you grow older, you aggressively declutter your life so as not to leave things behind for your surviving loved ones to deal with.
This is not to be confused with the Swedish practice of Ättestupa, which is when someone commits senicide at the age of 72 by leaping to their death from a cliff. It’s been debunked as an actual folk tradition of any kind. There was one comedic reference to the practice in one of the Icelandic sagas, and it resurfaced in another story, and then made its way into the movie Midsommar.
Having assisted with the clean up of my parents’ house, I will gladly declutter my closets, basement and garage. It brings me peace of mind just seeing a tidy corner and my actual desktops.
The craziest thing is that I still have my safety patrol badge and belt from sixth grade. I can probably part with that.
But you’ll have to pry my ukuleles from my cold, dead fingers, once they’re smashed on the rocks below the cliff.
Meanwhile, at My Writing Desk...
I’m chipping away at the novel, taking classes, and otherwise acting like a writer. I thought of a missing storyline for HERD, the HIVE sequel, so that’s what I’m working on now. Y’all are going to love it.
Maybe You'd Like
This Picayune I’m doing a newsletter swap with another author. I noticed this other author has a 100% open rate from her readers. You people need to pick up the open rate (of course, if you’re reading this, you’re not the problem so thank you!)
Buried Secrets A Novel of Dark Family Secrets and a Decades-Old Disappearance (Ella Perri Mysteries Book 1)
https://storyoriginapp.com/swaps/01a15f01-43b7-76d7-892e-63fe7a780507
Next Picayune
Assuming there isn’t something wild or weird happening after the election next week, I’ll be back the week after that with another Mickey Picayune. Meanwhile, thanks for reading!
All the best,
Mickey
NOTES:
If you’ve never seen Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid, I highly recommend it. Peak Steve Martin and an amazing homage to noir film.
Midsommar is another recommend, but it's gruesome and don't watch it if you're feeling down.
All photos are in the public domain, courtesy of the Art Institute of Chicago
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