Oy Vey!

You know, I may be Irish, but everyone from New York is a little bit Yiddish. We say things like 'shmatas' for clothes and rags; 'shmaltz' for good chicken fat we save in the freezer to put on rye bread now and then; 'tsuris' for the agony we feel for you when you've wronged us; 'vaklempt' for going crazy in a way that leaves us speechless. And a dozen others. We also toss in some Spanish, some low class colloquial Italian and a little French, making New York English a beautiful fuggin thing.
Anyway, today I'm definitely vaklempt. If I could blame someone else you'd understand the tsuris I'm suffering. I want a big fuggin shmata to hide under while I freaking eat some shmaltz.
Marco woke me this morning, after explicitly saying he didn't have to work today, to say they'd called him at 5 AM to come in and do an extra day. Which meant I had to drive him if I wanted my car. No big deal except I'm getting tired of interrupting my deep sleep hours, and particularly lately. IN the last three nights I had (Close your eyes kids) a dream of having sex with my sister Peg--she was so beautiful as a 14-year old that I'd peek in at her in the bathroom when she got out of the shower (I was 12), but I never thought about having sex with her so the dream was a total surprise and wonderful in a weird way: Glad I got that out of my system and glad she was the aggressor in it. Two nights ago I dreamed I was at a rally that wound up lasting all night and my mom was there. We didn't say much, nothing significant, but when she was thirsty I got her something to drink and when she was hungry I found her an all night restaurant and it was just wonderful to be in her warmth. And then last night Marco woke me when I was having a dream that my sister Barbara (two years younger than me) showed up in Texas and I was so surprised that I couldn't think of her name for a minute ("I'm your sister Barbara if you don't remember") she said in the nicest way. And I guess, and hope, that I'll have dreams about my older brother Mike, my dad Tom, and my sisters Pat and Regina in the next few nights. But you get the gist of why I've been annoyed to wake up and lose those connections with my wonderful family, none of whom I've seen since I moved to Texas six years ago. (And my parents not since 72 and 79 when my dad and mom died, respectively.)
But this morning when Marco woke me I went to wash my face and take a leak and there was no water. Turned out Italo had shut it of at the strey late last night--while I was sleeping--because the water heater, which we replaced two or three months ago, had sprung a leak and water was hitting the wires and causing quite a storm of electrical shock all over the kitchen.
And then Italo's car broke down this morning and he spent all day trying to fix it. And when he used my truck to buy some parts he needed, the cops followed him back to the house to say the truck break lights weren't working. And then Chepa called to say her "Check Engine" light had just come on in the new Plymouth van (1998) she just bought.
So three cars down in one day and a water heater to boot. We've fixed the water heater and Italo's car, but Chepa's car and mine are still out, at least till Monday when we can get them looked into.
So that's why I'm vaklempt.
It was still a beautiful day, working with Italo trying to fix cars, with Italo's girl playing with the goats and Madeleina playing with the puppy Sneakers and looking at us like we were "The Man" because we were covered in grease.
And I know we New Yorkers have a Yiddish word for that kind of day when everything goes wrong but you still have a good time--it's not Mitzfa but something like that. I just can't think of it this second.
In any event, I hope your next vaklempt moment turns into a Mitzfa too.