THE CAT IS DEAD, PUT HER OUT FOR GARBAGE: The Heat Is On!

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

The Heat Is On!

Hi John & Adrienne,

In case you come in, we are not putting heat on until November. It is 85 degrees Sat and Sun 65. Use an extra blanket - the temp is around 67 degrees in house which is fine - we have not used heat yet - Please don't try to put it on ---

Also, keep mindful of refrig doors so they stay closed & take care of the house & the bunny - Have a nice weekend!

We'll be home 12 - 12:30 Sunday.

Love,
Mom

Enjoy your wine (keep house neat thanks)

I have never gone to stay at my parents' house for the weekend without finding a note on the kitchen table when I arrive. As a matter of fact, my girlfriend and I look forward to it now -- we talk about it in the car on the way there: "what do you think it will say this time?" This past Fall we went to stay at my Mom's house while they were away for the weekend. But nothing could have prepared us for this note . . .

Let's dissect this, shall we?

I understand not putting the heat on until it is officially "winter," to save some money -- heating a house can get expensive. That's always been a house rule when I was growing up. But would it REALLY break the bank if we put the heat on for one day over the weekend?! I wouldn't be surprised if she hung a piece of string on the thermostat dial to see if we moved it . . .
Thanks for the weather forecast, Mom -- totally necessary here to really drive your point home!
I'm sorry, are you cold? Too bad -- here's an "extra blanket" -- after all, its still only October! I also love the double underline for extra emphasis and the insistence that 67 degrees is a suitable climate for the house ("fine" is underlined like 100 times).
Here we go with the goddamn refrigerator doors again! Just buy a new fridge already, Jesus Christ!
I always love how detailed her notes are -- her estimated time of arrival on this note really gets me. Most people would say "See you Sunday," but not my Mom -- she'll be back around 12 - 12:30 on Sunday.

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ABOUT THE BLOG

I love my Mother with all of my heart, and these are her words.

The Cat is Dead, Put Her Out For Garbage was an idea I came up with as a teenager a long time ago (circa 1994), after receiving so many notes from my Mother that I couldn't help but start collecting them. As I grew up and made friends, I realized that all of their Moms left them notes too. But somehow all along I knew my Mom's notes were . . . well, different from the rest . . .

Over the past 15 years or so I saved only the best notes in file folders -- there was no way I could have saved them all, but I knew that one day I would find a purpose for them. So, here we are in 2011 -- welcome to The Cat Is Dead, Put Her Out For Garbage!

A little background . . .

Growing up, most of the communication between my Mother and I was through notes. I would wake up in the morning and roll over to a note taped to my nightstand that read "See note in kitchen." I'd make my way into the kitchen for breakfast & there it was on the table: her hand-written expression of unconditional love, which was often overshadowed by the ramblings of an over-bearing, outspoken, undiagnosed bi-polar maternal figure.

Some of her notes outlined my tasks for the day while she was at work; others were outlets for her anger & frustration with my rebellious teenage nature. Never-ending reminders to do the most obvious things, making mountains out of molehills, and rarely presenting her thoughts on a "positive note" (no pun intended). "Vacation Notes" were like instructional manuals: always at least 4 typed pages, stapled. Notes appeared in my jeans and jacket pockets, lunch box, and taped to some of the most random places all over the house. She wrote on whatever surface she could find: Post-Its, notepads, even napkins & paper towels. Some days she was sad, happy, proud, disappointed, worried sick, or just borderline insane.

In her defense, it's not easy to communicate with your children, and even more difficult to relate to them as teens. I guess sometimes a note breaks down those walls, making the words (and in my Mom's case - the raw emotions) flow easier.

How the blog started . . .

We had a house cat named Silky for over 14 years. My Mom got her as a kitten, from the gutter in the alley behind her friend's salon. The cat was a nuisance for most of her life and towards the end she completely lost her mind. She started puking and shitting all over the house, and when she puked on the carpet in the living room seconds after my Mom had it shampooed, I came home to this note below: