Done

And I am done. This is how we started out, after the work I did yesterday:

My nephew came to help. 

Mostly we were using luggage movers to convey items from the apartment, through the memory care neighborhood, and often past people in bulky wheelchairs who were doing an activity. Every trip involved asking someone to let us out (it's a locked community) and let us back in. Anything can set the residents  off, so there's a weight that comes with every trip through the activity room. One bright spot was that there was a woman who I hadn't previously met, who wandered into the apartment and began saying in French that she was cold. I got to use a few vocabulary words that I still had available to me.

The neph took two giant truckloads of stuff to our house. And got to see his uncle, who is doing great on his chemo.

Then he took apart the big sofa for the guys (who still hadn't arrived). Late in the game I remembered that someone in the community had offered a different kind of dolly. This was a game changer. After we loaded the bed onto this thing for the guys, the neph took a truckload of stuff to our house and dropped it in the driveway for us, and went off.

The guys still hadn't arrived. They were looking for hand truck rentals, and it's the end of the month. I shared the happy news of the floor dolly, and they made it back to the apartment. It took two shakes after the prep we did.

Then I was alone. I had a date with filth, soaking more dried food puddles off of the ground and splatters off the baseboards. Then I managed to get every single thing onto the luggage mover, including a bag with all of the brooms, toilet brushes, plungers, etc. I duct taped that thing closed.

It now looked like this:

I ran into the person who signed us up at this joint. Gave her the keys. We walked out to the elevator together, and she reminded me that I had one more item in the apartment -- a toilet riser. Gross! She gave me the keys back. I put them in my purse.

I got downstairs, got everything into Tiger Brown, and was just about to take the last load to the dumpster when this roll of paper towels escaped. I was ridiculously tired. Had to clean it up, go to the apartment and -- have someone let me into her apartment because my purse was in the car. Did the walk of shame with the toilet riser through the activity room full of people who were being wheeled in to dinner. Out to the dumpster again, turned in the keys and finally I got to drive home. Almost there, I pulled over and bought some Guatemalan grape soda. Mrguy helped me load the stuff into the garage (I could barely walk by this point) and I flopped on the sofa. Wrote my sisters a text: "It's all done. Even whatever you want to ask me about? I did that."

I keep waking up and asking myself what horrible task I have to accomplish today and the answer is NOTHING. I kinda can't believe it.

And We're Out?

Today is supposed to be the day we exit my mom's apartment. It's oddly stressful, but it's almost over. On Tuesday and Wednesday our main caregiver and I cleaned out closets and made bags of trash and bags for Goodwill. A dear friend whose mom lives next door to mine also helped us the other day, clearing out Mom's clothes and taking 5 bags to Goodwill. We encouraged her to take anything for her mom.

Yesterday was gross. I listened to an audiobook about the Chinese men who were on the Titanic (soothing, but wonky) while soaking grime off the closet floor (super disgustoid -- a combination of "fruit of the past" and dust). Behind the antique dresser I found evidence of mom's behavior -- the missing drawer pulls that she took off the dresser repeatedly, and broken ceramic triangles. These were pieces of soup bowls, brightly coated with dried butternut squash soup. She broke things when she was upset, and I swept up many shards of discontent yesterday.

And finally yesterday there was a visit to the mortuary to settle up our accounts. But along with the bad, there was the sweet moment of seeing a photo of our friend and her mother, with her mother looking cute in one of my mom's cozy sweaters. It was her birthday.

Today our caregiver's son is helping extract the big sofa and bed, but I think he's not very experienced in this. He is bringing his cousin and some workers from Home Depot. My nephew is coming to help me get the smaller stuff over to our house. I have a feeling that he's going to end up helping oversee.

I should have paid for movers for them. 

So worried.

But we're getting out of there somehow today. 

And then the next chapter of my life begins.

Fingers crossed

A Post About The Sun

 

The force is gone. I always wondered what it would feel like, and I hoped that the force would leave us. In fact I bought a Magic 8-Ball just so I could ask it “Will my mom die soon?” But she persisted. As her abilities diminished, her pride in the strengths she still had were obvious. While she could still summon a sentence, she told you how strong she was and maybe even made a fist or a bicep to prove her point. She also hit, bit, spit and used *all* of the words that were banned from my own childhood vocabulary.

 

She was once an elegant woman who cared what others thought. She both made me take tennis lessons and also chose the color of my skin for those lessons “You will either wear panty hose or let me put tanner on your legs” – *that* lady left the scene ten years ago and in her place was a beast of increasing cantankerousness.

 

On Thurday, I wrote to a dear friend who coined the phrase “She lives for the hate” about my mom. I said “My mom died. What do I do with the 8 Ball? “Inconceivable!” she replied. ”I will miss that cranky old lady”. So will we all. She was 97.

 

It took four children, three 24-hour caregivers, a memory care facility and drugs to power the force. The results were tough to experience. I think I felt a certain amount of pride in how well I dealt with the barbs, both physical (poking me in my fat parts and laughing at me) and mental (constant haranguing about whatever she wanted and threats if you didn’t give it to her). In a way there was an artistry to her awfulness,. And although I wish that I’d spent my 50s differently, I am proud of how we cared for her and I have a lifetime of stories, and memories of countless Saturday lunches prepared for her and her beloved caregiver. Those we all enjoyed, at least.

 

The force is gone. She is at peace, and in these early days the world seems big and scary. I have slipped out of my customary life's orbit and need to choose my own gravity now. I want to be at peace as well.

Recovering Slowly

I had a long list of things I wanted to do today. But after breakfast my body hurt. Took a Covid test (negative) and went back to bed. 

Mrguy is down for the count again, and his weight is down to 176, cause I was not keeping on top of things while I had Covid and I'm currently not doing so well. 

However I went outside after my nap and had a beautiful few minutes watering in the back yard. I was beyond surprised to see that my climbing Cecile Brunner was covered in blossoms. I'm finally going to have a thriving Cecile Brunner, and that fills me with such joy. The scent of those roses and old sweet freesias are the scent of my childhood. Also, it's a windy day and there were at least 5 limes on the ground near the tree. The lime tree is enjoying my watering, and is very productive. And as I have mentioned previously, the orange tree is producing for the first time since we moved here in 2013 and I cannot wait for our first oranges. My hands smell like limes and roses.

I rested for a while and watched part of a documentary about "The Day the Clown Cried", which I used to be obsessed with in the 1990s. Boy was it not interesting after the decades-long wait! 

After my rest I wanted to make something yummy for mrguy using the chicken stock I made yesterday. I took the chicken that I picked off the bones and added it to an otherwise vegetarian soup recipe from the NYT, and earlier in the week I had frozen some small bits of salsa from last week's burrito order and I have been patting myself on the back about having done that. I added some of the tomatillo salsa to the soup, and it needed some brightening so I squeezed some lime juice into it, courtesy of the wind.

Those are the things that occupied my Saturday. Plus a little Top Chef, and a bit of sumo.

Oohhhhh! Covid!

I was so confused by the fact that my symptoms felt worse every day. And the stabbing sensations around my abdomen and thighs and ankles, and the sore finger bones. So I took a test to bed with me and ... Two Lines! It was Covid. Explains everything.

So there you go. The next goal was to try not to get mrguy sick. Here's what I wrote while I was in bed:

It's not as bad as the first time, but it's certainly no fun. I've had about two days of rolling around in bed. Pin pricks around my gut. My ankles have been really weak, which makes navigating the house hard. And muscle fatigue. A mantra (spoken) of "I feel so shitty". Occasionally calling out for my mama, which is sad. Then wrestling with that. I mean if I were sick, even if it was end-stage mean old mom, she'd go into mom mode and want to care for me.

I was a little pissed that for all the shivering I didn't have a fever. Until I finally warmed up and had a fever of 101.5, which felt like an acknowledgement that I truly was sick (as if the positive Covid test wasn't enough).

Day 3 after testing.

This morning I felt a lot better. I site-swapped with mrguy so that I could get my meds and get dressed. I watered in the aku room because it's gonna be warm today. Boy kitten joined me on the bed for a little cuddle while I look at fb. He purrs so loudly. And then eventually gets overstimulated and has to bite or leave or something. He's been a big help to his mama, considering how awful I've felt. BTW, I got my pills and sat down. And realized I need to go straight back to bed. I really want to go outside and prune.

Day 4 after testing.

I still would like to go outside. Motivating to do it is another matter entirely. I went upstairs this morning to take my pills and put on some clothes. By the time I came back downstairs where I've been staying I was pooped. The good news today is that many of my purchases came in the mail. I bought some Bautz'ner senft just in case of tariffs. And some smoked paprika, also. And some silvervine sticks for my little man, because they come from Asia and he loves them. And I bought a bracelet which was really beautiful.

I can't smell anything right now. Anosmia is a bummer. My sense of smell is a cherished sense. And it's important for memory. So I will actively work on this as I recover from Covid. 

Day 5 after testing

This is the first day where, after having coffee, I just rolled over and went to sleep for hours. My sinuses are clear. Fewer jabbing pains. The boy kitten curled up with me after I decided to get up. That took a while to enjoy :) In the afternoon I went outside and watered. Then I experimented with the technique I learned on Youtube for reducing the depth of a neckline on a t-shirt I like. After that I labeled all of my meds with the names of the medication on the lid (as I have done with the cat's medications for a year now). And I filled my pill dispensers. Still thinking about how to repair my favorite hawaiian shirt, but that was too complicated. And now I'm resting my eyes

Day 8 after testing

Last night I still had a tiny almost invisible line on my Covid test which means -- still positive. I was up almost all day yesterday, and that was fairly miraculous. Today I woke up and felt significantly better. Like a person with a cold, not a person with Covid. Mrguy had some technical times setting up our new wireless router (probably time to replace a piece of equipment it needed to connect to) and that made me pick up my sewing. Many hours later I stopped. I repaired a pillowcase that the boy kitten has been chewing on. And I sewed a hole in the pocket of my favorite Roos Atkins coat (and reattached its tag). Along the way I found an old t-shirt from the forklift factory that bk had helped himself to a while ago. It had a big hole in between the shoulder blades, which is probably a spot that smells a lot like me. And I found a cotton glove that was just the right size, so I did an applique of the glove over the hole. That took quite a long time, which I spent also watching Lenox Hill, which is an amazingly well-told series.

And now

It is a week and a half after I first started feeling poorly and...I had forgotten that after having Covid you have fatigue. Lots of it. Tiny but mighty is coming over in a half hour to take me on a gentle walk. I'm not really looking forward to it because of the fatigue. But happy for the company.

Sluggish Wed - Fri

Today's a good day for blogging, because I'm home sick. Not sure what's going on. I woke up with a runny nose and sneezy behaviors yesterday. Then I realized that I felt sluggish. I have somewhat of a sore throat. I feel like I have a fever but don't -- a bit chilly, a bit of muscle soreness. But not even like one of my regular colds. I'm guessing I'm having some allergic response to the outdoors. My desire to do just about anything is zero.

But in perspective, it's awesome. I have not had a cold since our Caribbean cruise. Pretty good run, as someone said.

On Tuesday, Z and I went to see Suleika Jouad and Jon Batiste. I had gotten tickets from someone on the Isolation Journals page, and the seats were fantastic. The show was indescribable and Z and I had a delightful time, which we tend to do. She is one of those friends who says yes. And if she asks me to something, I also say yes. It works.

But the next day I woke up feeling punk. And here I am. Yesterday I exhausted myself by shopping for accessories for an upcoming party. And learning about turquoise jewelry and where you can go and mine your own in Arizona. Searching mrsguy only to learn that I never told the pigeon story. Searching the National Archives website for genealogical clues. Searching German newspapers for genealogical clues (who is the father of Christiana Touchy?). Is it worth getting a subscription to Archion in order to look for birth records in Lindau? Looking for letters that used to refer to Ernst Gottlob on the Gleimhaus website. I can pick out 18th century German script better than I used to -- could I possibly look again and translate some words?

Then a long nap.

And on Friday, I'm still loafing around. I actually feel worse. More of a stuffy nose, more muscle aches. More ennui. I have to do *something* today. Maybe I'll go outside and water.

One last thing -- today Prince Harry lost his bid to get a security detail. Of course there is more to the legal case than that, but the Royal House should absolutely give in, and as quietly as possible. No matter how deeply angry they are, they have chosen, by not providing security, to act as if they don't care if one of their own lives or dies. It is a bad look, and favorable public opinion is something that they will continue to need in order for the monarchy to survive.

No matter if he is a working royal or not, Prince Harry didn't choose the life he has. The monarchy required children, and this one didn't fill the mold. So what. Some day it will be proven, I fear, that the Sussexes were right to be concerned for their safety.