ADVENTURES OF THE FLATTSIE SISTERS

EPISODE # 5 – VISIT WITH THE ORGANIST

We went with Mrs. Papa (Aunt Adleyn) to church this morning. She pumps the big pipe organ at St. Luke Methodist Church in Columbus. It was a really big gadget with keys and knobs and buttons and tabs and pedals and all kinds of whirly-gigs attached. It could play loud or soft. There must have been some little Mexican men in there too cause she said the organ had three Manuals. She said one was great, one was swell and the other was in the choir.

We weren’t supposed to be in the hidey-hole where she was, but she let us play on the organ and showed us all about it. We didn’t weigh enough to mash down the keys or pedals but it was very exciting.

She said the organ had some teeny-tiny pipes and some great big ones that could shake the building. She likes to wake everybody up when she plays the big ones. There were some diapersons, some bourbons, some bombdarbombs and a night owl horn. There were also some flues but we didn’t touch those ‘cause we didn’t want to get sick. Miss Adleyn says the whole thing works on lots of air and there is a big box like an accordion. It’s called a gusset and keeps the air going through. One time when she played in Opelika, her gusset blowed out! (She’s better now though)

Love,

the “Flattsie Sisters”

 

We went on errandswith Papa today and he introduced us to people he knows at the bank, the grocery store and all over Columbus, Georgia. Mrs. Papa (her name is Adleyn) says Papa knows EVERYBODY!

He took us to Wade Laundry and Cleaners which is owned by his friend Trip Wade. Papa used to work with Mrs. Wade a long time ago. She is very pretty and her name is Alice. Papa calls her a giant sunflower.

Papa says a cleaners is where people take their clothes to be washed. We can’t do that because we’re made of paper but it was fun to see how they do it. We couldn’t figure out why they call it “dry cleaning” when they really put your clothes in a chemical that’s very wet. We haven’t been to school yet so we don’t know much about chemistry. But, that’s grown-up talk so we don’t need to know.

We thought Papa said he took his clothes to be depressed so we asked him why his shirts were sad. He said “No, I take them to get “pressed” when they get wrinkly. Since we had a few wrinkles from traveling all the way from the tip of Florida we asked him if we could get pressed and he said “sure.” A very nice lady took her iron and made us smooth as silk. The heat felt sooo good because we are used to the Florida sun and it is very cold in Georgia.

 

Love,

the “Flattsie Girls”

Born into a prominent family but tribulations of life and a bent for the hedonistic life-style pushed him out to the edge. An enigma. A mystery. A question mark. At times garrulous and other times moody, he could be the life of the party or suddenly kill the mood with an unprovoked outburst. Long, tall, lanky and handsome, his looks gradually gave way due to a fancy for strong booze, pills and unhealthy living. A supper of potted meat, right from the can, a healthy body fails to keep. He slept under the counter in a place where he worked.

Even though he had a sense of humor and a great personality when his mood was right, he ruined many a relationship and alienated a some friends. Add to that poor-paying jobs and so many DUIs that he could never drive again further separated him from friends and family. Finally, all this did him in and he landed in the hospital with more tubes, valves and gadgets than one body should accommodate. Don’t know the how, but he ended up in Intensive Care in a coma and on life support. He remained in this state for months upon months.

During this time, I’d go to see him. Asked the nurses if it was okay to talk or sing to him and they said that although it wouldn’t hurt, he probably would not respond. One time as I was leaving, a nurse stopped me at the door. She looked at me and held my hand. “You seem like a nice person, and you must care about him since you have come often. No one else does. His sister doesn’t either and wants to have him taken off life support. She won’t return our calls and he has no other family. I don’t want to sound depressing but I just don’t think you should get your hopes up.” I thanked her and said I’d keep coming until it didn’t matter any more.

He was moved to a rest home many miles away. Went to see him once and had planned to go again for one last time before the end. Thought it would be depressing, but the rest home was also a rehab center and the staff was wonderful. They took me to his room. It was quite a shock. His eyes were wide open but it didn’t look as if he could see. His mouth was open in the shape of an O. He was down to less than 130 pounds – a mere shadow of his former self. I talked to him and tried to sound like he was capable of hearing me but it was difficult. Before I left, I started singing to him. Ran out of things to sing so I sang “You are my sunshine.” I know it sounds silly but I couldn’t think of anything else. When I looked down I could see the sheets moving and realized he was trying to get his hand out. I moved the sheet and he grabbed my hand with a force that almost broke it, staring into my eyes with a look of the dead. The staff thanked me for coming and I made the long trip home.

That was months ago. The other day I received a call from Charlie. He was full-voiced and lively. Somehow he had come back from the brink. He told me that as soon as he got things worked out to come home, they would release him and a friend would come pick him up. The friend failed to come or to even call. Charlie phoned again and asked if I would  be able to come pick him up. I called back to say that I only come the following monday. He said “My own sister wanted to pull the plug on me!” I replied that I knew and that I was sorry. He started talking faster and faster and then became unintelligible. I realized then that he was crying and could barely make out what he was saying through the uncontrollable sobs. “You were the only one that came, man…..the only one…. and you sang to me… don’t remember the song but you drove all that way to “effin“ me a song man!” “It made me see I wasn’t ready to go. I had to hang on because things needed doing and I needed to do them.”

My Mother used to say that someone is always watching and to try to be the light when others lose theirs. Thank you Momma. And Charlie thanks you too.

*This is a true story. His name has been changed to protect his privacy.

DO YOU THINK IT MAY BE THE PAIN MEDICATION??
(Exhausting experience from my shoulder surgery October 19, 2015

PREVIOUSLY UNDERSTOOD PURPOSE OF POST-SURGICAL RECOVERY SLEEP:
Rest, deep slumber and rejuvenating sleep

NEWLY UNDERSTOOD REALITY OF POST-SURGICAL RECOVERY SLEEP:

9pm. Looking forward to a restful sleep in a recliner in my own bedroom.

9:11pm Overnight visitor Jiggabug (Janie) wants to see where the doctor put a boo boo on PeePop’s shoulder. Stop preparing for sleep. Remove shirt so said boo boo can be observed and commented upon.

9:33pm arrangement of Adleyn’s two millioner kroner Norva-Nordisk torso omorganisering apparat (torso rearranging engineer apparatus). Place CPAP machine in optimal position. Arrange footstool with cool blanket to keep legs from sticking to leather and warm blanket to pull over body. Set up TV tray with needed accessories (flashlight, ice water, cell phone, etc.) at left. Take pain medication with water. Put on CPAP mask. Arrange helpful shoulder sling on right side. This is akin to sewing a large black possum to your side, and as about as comfortable. Develop the need to pee. Get up, unhook, do task, return and repeat process of arrangement.

10:12pm. Close eyes and drift off to sleep. Drug-assisted dream sequence starts: I have wholly misunderstood the purpose of post-surgical sleep. My new understanding reveals that it is actual a nightly repeat of the surgical nightmare until complete. New surgery is done each night in the sequence. Garage doors are opened to my body where a front-end loader removes objects of impediment to operations (like a 1955 Chrysler). Possum likes gizzards. I realize with horror that I have failed to check item 367(a) on page 128 of the 5 pound medical responsibility release package and that I still HAVE my gizzard. Hoping this won’t be discovered (by the Worldwide Council on Confusion in government paperwork (or by possum). First incision made with glove-like banana space pods. No pain but not much fun. Hoping the next night’s surgery will be quieter. Several hours of poking, prodding and removal of unnecessary bodily parts ensue. I wake up screaming. Actual elapsed time? 12 minutes. I close my eyes again for sleep and another three days worth of exciting surgery dream. More of same. Actual elapsed time. 22 minutes. Left leg is now numb, my cool covers are hot and my hot covers are cool. CPAP machine creating new melodies. Right leg is restless and has left the area, probably to find more leg at a neighborhood bar. I finally make it to 10pm. No sleep on the horizon but it is now 11:51. Should I try to read for awhile? Go for a walk? Listen to every dog in the neighborhood bark if I step out of my garage? Or go looking for my right leg?

Maybe it’s the pain medication?

 

Papa took us to his band rehearsal tonight. He plays drums with the Cavaliers Orchestra. Papa says it’s a big swing band. We didn’t see any swings, or any other playground equipment, but the music sure had us tapping our toes. We stood on the big floor tom tom for a while but when Papa would hit it, we’d bounce high in the sky like on a trampoline.

We thought it was fun, but Papa said we might sail over and land in a trombone slide. I guess that’s another one of those musical terms, because we didn’t see a playground slide either.

We learned that there are 17 players in four groups: saxophones, trumpets, trombones and rhythm. The rhythm section has drums, guitar, bass and piano. The piano lady was really nice and let us run up and down the keyboard. She called it “tickling the ivories.” We don’t know what ivories are but it was fun tickling the piano keys with our bare feet.

We love going with Papa on his musical adventures!

Love,

The “Flattsie Girls”