Thanks, Officer No-Tooth!

The good times continue.

The phone rings. I pick up: "I need help," says a quavery voice. Is it my sister or my mom? It's my sister, who has been taking care of Mom. There is a litany of woe over there. Everything from: my mom discombobulated all of the televisions to my sister's car is parked up the street and she has a migraine and can't move it. It's kind-of a fuckfest.

The bro and I try to figure out logistics of how we can continue the work we need to do at Mom's house and rescue our sister. It occurs to me that many of the tasks have the earmark of mrguy, including an ability to buy feminine hygiene products without embarrassment. So he was drafted and bro and I went back to work. mrguy fixed many things for the family and then came to the ancestral house.

Then I had to call in about jury duty. Drew the short straw and had to appear in the afternoon. Turns out that if you drive 80mph you can get from Mom's to the courthouse in my county in time. I got called for the first group. I was juror 9. They asked if I'd ever had a bad experience with law enforcement. I was compelled to tell them about how the sheriff pulled me over for speeding and told me that if I stood on the corner in the rain he wouldn't cite me. The judge asked me if I reported him and I told her I was too afraid. So I got dismissed. I didn't mention the capper -- that he was missing one of his front teeth. I didn't think that they'd believe me.

Mom's > Courthouse > Mom's > Big Brown Box = 140 miles. Plus it was 103 degrees at the courthouse.

omg, People!

For The Love of Money

I woke up to the sound of For The Love of Money in my head, again on the sofa at the mama's house.

I came here yesterday to meet with some auctioneers, the Asian lady and the Decorative man. Decorative told me that the museum full of European antiques would probably only net $10k. The Asian would net slightly more, but we have an emotional attachment to them. I find it all fairly sad, since my mom as been trapped in her home after inheriting these things some 40 years ago.

Since we'd net so little, do we want to sell any of it? If we don't, I have to store or get rid of it in a week and a half, when we have to turn over an empty house to the realtor.

Yesterday we had the following people at the house:

9:00 -- the neighbor who is painting. A great guy, bit of a nut, loves to tell stories.
9:45 -- realtor and stager
11:00 -- Decorative Guy and Asian Lady from the auction house
2:00 --  Our Bro, eager to work
4:30 -- Bigsis and the mama, who have news from the doctor. Mom wants to paw through every drawer in the house (for the millionth time) and take more stuff to her apartment. She told middlesis that she really wants to move to a different apartment and that she's unhappy. She told bigsis that she likes her apartment.
4:30 -- middlesis' former best friend, who just happened to drive down our street for the first time in 25 years.

Week and a half to get out of the house.

Bro is down to help. He's anxious about how to be helpful, and wants to get started. 

Mom and bigsis didn't leave for hours. Bro and I finished up three rooms. 

I have jury duty today.

I will only live this week once.

I'll Live For Jesus

In keeping with the piano theme...
 
After Packin' Up came to mind the other day, I started thinking of the Stars of Faith. This song, in particular, is a favorite. It's now firmly stuck in my brain.

Kitty Parham in her prime:

Piano Exits, Stage Left

Today a miraculous thing happened: our family piano left the home. Through the front door, no less.

It had been much loved. It was originally my grandparents', and then the mama inherited it. My sweet cousin, who was an accordion-playing child star on radio in the 1930s, used to play it when she came to visit us. And she's really the only one who did any longer.

My siblings had piano lessons. I, the baby that saved the marriage and broke the pocketbook, did not. It would have been a good idea, though, because I loved the piano. I'd pick out melodies on it constantly (mostly commercials and game show themes). And when I threw a sheet over the top of it, it was my dollhouse / fort. I'd bring my Kiddles under there with me and play.

And long before I heard of "prepared piano", we used to toss poker chips into the strings.

Michael Feinstein once played it. He came to our house to buy a short-term insurance policy from my dad and asked to play the piano while he was there.

And I once asked Danny Goodwine (real name) to eat his lunch under it with me. This was the beginning of a long list of bizarre things that I considered romantic that boys and then men did not understand. Until mrguy, of course, who gets anything.

Anyhoo, the much-loved piano is going to my first cousin, once-removed. This cousin has an autistic son who has just discovered the piano. This cousin came to visit my mom a few weeks ago and was explaining that his son gravitates to a piano whenever he is near one. Mom asked him if he wanted it, and a match was made!!

I sent him the security code, a picture of where the key is hidden, and instructions to toss out Coco the neighbor cat if she appears. He let himself and the piano movers in, and Operation Baby Grand went off without a hitch.

Massage? Not!

 

Yesterday was amazing. The moving company came and finished unpacking my mom's apartment. I was able to run out and get her groceries and champagne. It looked beautiful! Mom was super appreciative.

But today is a new day and she has reservations. It's noisy and hot. She's miserable, Middlesis is miserable. I'm miserable.

Yuck.

After several days of moving, family vacation prior to that (most of which I spent either sleeping in the same bed as Mom or keeping an eye on her), I'm pooped. And to not have resolution, rest, a moment to enjoy the success of yesterday? It's kinda awful.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Was going to take the day off and get a massage, but now I'm going to have a discussion with my sister about how to make things better.