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

The Hits Keep Coming

A friend with pancreatic cancer died Monday morning. He was pivotal to the design process of many forklift lines. He was a true oddball, snark, arm flapper, weirdo, love, genius. He was an acquired taste but I came to love him hard, as so many did. He let me barge into his life a little further after his diagnosis.

So the whole factory is grieving. And part of what I see as my job is to help heal through memory. We're pulling together all of the facets and looking at them together and going "That's him."

Like I said, he was a peculiar person. He understood what was funny about things that push the limit. So I could text him images of weird mermaid paintings, or strange vintage songs and he got it. Other than mrguy, the only person I've had that bond with is miss wartz, who is now out of my life. Or my middle sister, also out of my life pretty much. Boo. Sucks.

Anyway, I have all of these tasks that are related to a dear dead friend (we want to celebrate him and love him) and it feels like it's too much. But people are so happy when you bring the pieces back together to celebrate him. And my own way of coping was to make a wiki that collected a bunch of the weird shit / opinions he's texted me over the last few years and put it all in one place. And going to free grief counseling and crying.

Innnn the meantime, I finally coached our caregiver through the drama of being called to jury duty. She wanted me to call my mom's doctor and get an excuse (that is totally not a thing, and my mom has needs right now -- I don't want to squander Dr. time by asking for a ridiculous favor). Then she wanted to tell me (at length) why she was afraid of jury duty. Then she asked me to write down a list of reasons she could use to convince the court that she couldn't serve. Here is what I wrote:

"Here are things that you can say that are all true:

• I would not be a good juror because don’t understand English well enough. I don’t understand the jury process.
• I care for a 94-year-old woman who has Alzheimer’s. She screams and cries when I am not with her.
• I had a bad experience with police in Tonga, where I was born. They took my husband’s legally-owned handgun and wouldn’t return it."

She called in today and her group was excused. "Thank you Father God!" she said.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to blow the scene and go to a convention in a week, but I'm having trouble writing my presentation. In addition to being interrupted by all the work stuff related to celebrating my dead friend and the stuff I need to do related to moving my mom who is very unhappy, there are all of the requests from other people who are *also* presenting at this convention. I really feel I need to go do this. I haven't been anywhere for three years and I'm at my limit. I want to leave town, man a booth at a convention where people are happy, and share my thoughts with the world on Sunday. 

Excellent news is that mrguy, neph and his wife got us out of the old apartment. Also I'm buying a bunch of stickers to put on my car so that mom doesn't think it's hers any longer. I'm going to un-momify it. And if that doesn't work, new car.

Oh about all that fun I'm having -- just fielded a call from my queen, telling me she wanted to get out of "the hotel or whatever this is" and that she needs a car and they won't let her out. I can't go see her because there is a caregiver group zoom meeting specific to people who have family members residing in this place in memory care. I need their feedback for myself and for her. I'm finding that in this transition I don't have my after work time available to me that would allow me to do things I can't get done in the day, because I am doing something for mom or I'm worn out.

Wow.

Mom Move 2022, Day 4

On Monday of this week I first learned about my mom's imaginary boyfriend and by Thursday he had become central to our existence. On move-in day she had talked about her friends she left behind and how much she regretted leaving them and was angry about it. If she had advance notice and people had said their goodbyes to her, mom would have chained herself to the building, so to speak. Because of her Alzheimer's we couldn't do anything other than spring the move on her. 

So she started talking about her imaginary boyfriend a lot on move-in day. "...the man that I love very much and who loves me. I met his family recently..." In constructing her boyfriend she's adopted some of the biography of a guy at her old place who liked to eat her leftovers. She added that history to the image of a handsome young gardener who is nice to her. Add water -- Boyfriend. It's a bit much. And the timing! Oy!

I managed to get her to breakfast in the cafe on her floor yesterday, and she was madder than a wet hen on a windy day. "Where are my people? The people I came in with?" "Something terrible has happened to these women." (that's the other residents, who are all less together than she is). I actually recorded the conversation with her because she was getting verbally abusive and I wanted to have some validation that it had actually happened. 

I turned to one of the breakfast helpers and said out of the corner of my mouth "I hope you are all enjoying our two-person play". She laughed.

Our caregiver arrived at 9:30 and I booked it out of there and had a nap with boy kitten at home. Back at the fun factory, our caregiver had what she described as "The worst day since I work with your mom". Worst day in 7.5 years, that would be. So sad. After my nap with the cat, I spent a half hour talking to my sister who had been talking with mom on the phone while I slept. Mom hung up on her 4 times. By the time I got back to memory care a few hours later, she was ALL SMILES. Go figure.

She has decided that she is moving, and that is making her very happy. She spent hours asking me the same questions over and over about what objects in the apartment I want. I told her I only want photographs. Any time my gaze strayed from her she accused me of not being helpful, and she'd start to get teary-eyed. Even when I was sewing the tongue back into one of her shoes, which was a task I was doing with her, it was as if it was a betrayal. As mrguy says, my mom is a black hole of endless need.

Finally she let us watch tennis on tv, which had been on the whole time. She subscribes to the Tennis Channel and likes to complain about everybody's stroke, what with her being an expert and all. I dislike tennis. I never had the stamina for it and my mom made me take tennis lessons. Not only that, she found my white legs embarrassing. I was given the choice to either a) wear panty hose to my lessons or b) let her put tanning cream on me. I let her chase me around the house until she wore me out and rubbed QT on me. I squirmed a lot during tanner application and as a result went to my tennis lessons with legs that looked like they were painted by Van Gogh. 

Back to present day humiliation!

Back at the ranch, we watched the end of Grand Hotel. And Flamingo Road. Thank goodness for AMC! Never has snoring been so welcome. It means my day with mom is over.

Of course there are people popping into her apartment all day and night to see how we're doing. Eventually I will stop sleeping over on the regular and leave it to these nice people. This is my goal, anyway. I've gone from dealing with my mom every day but in a more task-oriented way (like planning and executing the move) to dealing with her emotions in the most granular level in the moment and with her in my face. I'd say it's a lot, but I haven't even processed it.

Mom Move 2022, Day 3

The Big Reveal. The huge undercurrent in getting my mom to memory care is my sister's fear of it. Not wanting to see it, be in it, deal with it, I imagine. Nobody wants their person to go to memory care when they can still tell you how they feel about it. But that's how this is going down. Mom's outstripped our (us kids', our beloved caregivers') ability to deal with her when she rages about wanting to see us or live elsewhere or whatever is bothering her. She needs to be in a more supportive environment with trained staff. It's time for the big guns.

So there was a lot of krieg und schreck about who would go in with mom to memory care on the day she becomes a resident. The discussions via email were long and drawn out. My biggest fear was having to deal with both mom and my sister, whose sensitivity to the situation was breaking out like hives. I wanted to just concentrate on the mama. I told our sister that if she wanted to take mom away for two days and just drop her off, that'd be fine. And that's what happened.

Let me pause on another topic, which is that we debated for a month about how to *tell* my mom. I had tried to break it to her and tell her about a new place. She got really mad about that, and told me that change was hard. I totally get that. Several plans later, my middle sister decided that she would tell her, but only the day before she dropped her off. This plan was agreed to by her and the caregiver. Hey, I didn't want to do it. I wanted to tell her the truth, which would be harsh. Anyhoo, the hammer did the deed and I am grateful.

On the day my mom moved in, our caregiver, my oldest sister, mrguy and I greeted my mom and my middle sister. We were met by staff, as well, and treated to lunch in the dining room downstairs. Considering the big deal that was transpiring, it went pretty well and mom was pretty even. "I see that most of the people here are younger than me," she said. "I've got news for you, mom, most people are younger than you," I replied. I liked my own joke so I'm writing it down. We went upstairs to memory care, and luckily nobody was taking off their pants in the hallway. Mom checked out her apartment, and started asking about men. 

And getting agitated and asking why she had to move and then it was ON!! The anger and stuff boiled over and she was getting pissed.

Mrguy, ever-helpful, said that we might find some men in the lobby. Which we did. We tried to point out men and meet people and be cheerful but nothing was working. Eventually our caregiver took mom to dinner, which was mildly unsuccessful, but my older sister had brought some food (genius!) that we could improvise. Everyone went home and mom checked out her closet ("too many clothes!!"). 

We watched the Tennis Channel and got in bed.

Mom Move 2022, Day 2

I woke with a start at what I thought was 7:45. The movers were due to arrive at 8am, 15 minutes away.

I ran to the bedroom and started jumping into the clothes I had laid out the night before. Mrguy woke up and I told him that I'd messed up and was late. He showed me that it was actually 6:45, the time I'd intended to wake up. Nothing like a little adrenaline to start your day.

Move Day!!!!!

Sure enough, the moving permit I'd ordered didn't arrive but it worked out ok. Everything, in the end, turned out ok. It was a full day. I showed the movers the color code, how to pack the fragile stuff, and they really didn't realize how much stuff had to be hand packed. I still don't know how much it cost, but I imagine a lot.

When they were ready to leave, I gave oldest neph the high sign. Neph was my partner in rapid unpacking and door-manning. Turns out that in memory care there is a keypad with a code for entering and one for exiting the area. Everybody who works there was busy because it was lunchtime. The movers were super cranky about the slow elevators.

AND SOME OF THEM DIDN'T HAVE THE COVID VACCINATIONS THAT WE WERE PROMISED THEY WOULD HAVE. That slowed us down, also. It could have effed the entire day if the community didn't also allow people to take rapid tests and then enter. Now back to our programming. 

We jammed on the unpacking, and the movers said they wouldn't remove the large amount of cardboard we now had (this service was also promised earlier). We kept moving, so to speak, because the stagers were expected at 3pm. Eventually I had to summon mrguy to be our third person at memory care.

The stagers arrived on time and had just two tasks: hang the art and set up the cable. The art included my mom's / grandmother's Chinese lacquer screens, which are super heavy (imagine rosewood and semiprecious stones (i.e. rocks). Yes, they're heavy and I don't know how to use toggle bolts. I knew pretty much where I wanted stuff, and how high up I wanted it on the wall, so there wasn't much to do on that end. But the guy who was supposed to set up the cable didn't really know how, given the scenario and equipment we gave him. 

WTF. In addition, in our move in packet from the community there was a section on cable that said that basic cable was included in our rent, but if we needed more than that there was a number we could call. No name. Just a phone number. I left a message explaining that we needed to change our service and we needed the tennis channel and could they help. The man left a message back, saying that he wasn't that guy any more but that another guy would call me back. "Michael" talked me through the process and it seemed fine, but he said I would have to go to Comcast and swap out our equipment.

K. So the stager with the experience couldn't figure it out. Mrguy to the rescue. He figured out the cable box setup, but it was a team effort. I had what I thought was my mom's account number (set up and paid for by my sister). And it was asking for my mom's birthdate, which we knew, but it also wanted a phone number. It wouldn't take the number that she had most recently had for 7 years. It was auto-populating with the area code and prefix of the phone number my mom had had for 60 years. But it wouldn't take the last four digits. So mrguy says "Do you have any other phone number with that prefix?" And I gave him the digits for my dad's old business line, which I'm pretty sure we gave up twenty years ago. It worked. I have no idea what kind of weird nonsense that was all about, but the box booted up and even gave us the Tennis Channel, which I gather is essential to my mom's happiness.

The report from Storage Land is that it had gone well, and that mrguy had anointed them with cash gratuity (despite their being unvaccinated and breaking something). Mrguy was also able to bring me some wood glue and a vise grip that I used to repair a broken part overnight. 

Neph kicked butt on the bathroom details, organizing all of the random things that it takes to be a lady of almost 95 years, and put things away and took direction and let me boss him around, which was amazing since I don't know who trusted me to do all of this stuff with any competence. By about 7pm we were done with 99% of what we had to do. We went home, and that is the last time I slept in my own bed except for a nap yesterday afternoon.

Mom Move 2022, Day 1

Woooooo!!!

My sister came from Minnesota and drove Mom around the block for two days in order to give us the time to pack and move. Only she forgot to push "send" on the text telling us that they'd left. Mrguy, oldest neph and I were poised and in the neighborhood but nobody made the tropical bird sound, as it were, tipping us off that the coast was clear. Finally I called the front desk to find out if they'd left, and they had so we rushed in, an hour behind. It was 11am and we had to pack a two bedroom apartment.

The plan? Stage the truck in two loads. Boxes and furniture with green stickers go to my mom's new apartment. Boxes and furniture with pink stickers go to storage. The truck gets packed with storage in back and apartment in front, and will make two stops. Neph and I stay at the apartment and unpack as fast as we can and mrguy goes to storage with the movers.

Is it a rule somewhere that it has to be beastly hot on moving day? Or is that just my own personal rule? So hot. I dripped over everything, and the men just drew a veil of charity over that whole thing and pretended it wasn't happening.

We walk in, I start stickering furniture and labeling things in yellow that are either a) going home with me or b) require my own attention in order to sort out.

The household items were stored by committee, and it was a complete hodge podge. On top of that, my middle sister had projects stored in every cranny. And items that I was afraid to throw out even though they looked like they might have just gotten "tidied" into their current hidey hole.

Then there was the biohazardness of it all. In the evening I was working in the bathroom, and found this bag:

Extra specimen cups! Woooo!

Then the neph found an item we will call "bloody slipper". Clearly the game was afoot, and he declared that he had won. I didn't have to work too hard snatch victory from the evil jaws of youth and eventually win the title of "Finder of Grossest Item". I'd already thrown away misfiled used Depends (yeah, whatever), and the occasional corn pad (mildly gross). But I definitely pulled out in front with my "Several Dozen Used WooWoo Cream Dispensers". Yup. Good times!

We were unbelievably hot and tired, but dinner had to come from somewhere and we had to eat. So we ordered some wok-fried salmon teriyaki for pickup and took a documentation break. I manned the spreadsheet, handed out number stickers (3 per box) and color code stickers, and called for content descriptions. Inventory!! We took dinner to our house, ate it and fed the cats, then returned to the apartment around 7pm. That's when the hard work of hall closets, kitchen and back bedroom had to be tackled. It felt impossible.

At 11pm mrguy said it was time for the final blitzkrieg, so I put on the Ramones and we rocked out for 2 minutes, then got back to work. I was amazed by mrguy, who was able to just push through like a total monster at the end. He later described it as being like a horse who could see the barn (i.e. finishing the project) and got a crazy burst of energy.

We all went to our homes and drank beers and couldn't sleep.

Moving!

It's happening, People. Next week is move week. I started to write a post about it but all of the parts changed. Oy.

Today I:

Changed her phone and cable to her new place. Turns out that she was getting HBO and Showtime all this time, which can't have been cheap. I would like to shake the hand of the nice young man who helped me today.

Ordered a parking permit for the moving truck

Asked the new place about a) a tour for my sister and the caregiver b) changing her prescription meds to the new place. I signed some forms but don't know what happens after and c) getting a reservation for lunch on the 18th (D-Day).

I feel done for today.

Tile

I will miss this tile, on the tread from the living room to the entryway:

You love your Grandma? You love Asian art? You love waffles?

I sent an email with that subject line to oldest and youngest nephews, who were on their way to being the new owners of antique lacquer panels with semi-precious stone inlay. Their payment? Some labor, as well as removal of frozen items from the domicile.

First the labor. Their task, should they love the grandma and waffles, was to remove the solid oak desk from the office. I have lived in terror of this moment from the time the desk entered the office, because my pop had said that it could only leave in halves. Youngest neph brought his Sawzall. 
 
But the local garbage folks' "bulky item pickup" rules consider two halves of a once whole desk to be *two* bulky items, so mrguy vetoed that plan. And given that mrguy's other name is pack-man, he and two nephs were able to get the desk into the patio without a hitch.

Then came Operation Empty The Office. Out went some cool weird furniture and some future landfill.

Then came Operation Empty Freezer. Despite the removal of 28 frozen bananas (and the 8 or so my brother-in-law also found), the chest freezer was really full. Cream puffs, frozen waffles, meat, milk, butter, lots of plums from the tree (so happy). And yes, 5 more frozen bananas. I knew someone would forget a cooler, and a styrofoam cooler appeared on the free table at work this week. Kismet. I filled it with meat.

The vegetarian nephew got the cream puffs. The non-vegetarian got all of the meat and the ancestral bait (two kinds). The estranged nephew gets bupkis (no art, no bait, no love) and his brother gets the admonition that none of what he's taking can go to his brother. Sadly the vegetarian is undeserving of having to pass on this message, but that's how it is.

While I was cleaning out the fridge, Coco came to visit. I'm sure that I've said this before but I'm not sure I could have gotten through this final stretch at mom's house without the affection of sweet Cocodee, who appears in the middle of the house at the most random times. If you're her parents, doing a Google search on your cat's name, I apologize for monopolizing her time during this spring and summer.

The boys got their art and sent another neph, his wife and our grand-nephews, who arrived a few hours later. That neph walked away with a chest of drawers, some Indian wool rugs, the pop's old fishing kit with real tin cups and stuff, and on a later date mrguy will deliver the jade panels that didn't fit in the truck.

I emptied the toy drawer of its mix of late 60's (mine) and early 80's (the nephs') toys. 

And that was almost the end of it. The garage is filled with garbage bags, the garage cabinets are empty, most of the furniture is out of the house, and our entire mr and mrs guy garage is filled with the things from the house that the greater guy family cares about.

Wow.

Polka Party

Tonight my mom asked me if I was going to get straight into my jammies. I told her I might.

After jury duty last Tuesday I spent all weekend at the Ancestral Manse, packing and sweating and eating at Mr. Pickles. I can't tell you how much pleasure Mr. Pickles gives me. The dewy-fresh youngsters who make my sandwich just right are adorable. Being there in their midst transports me to the restaurant where I worked during my senior year in high school. Life seems so simple when I'm there listening to heavy metal and waiting for my sammy. The last thing I will do when I leave my home town is to get a sandwich at Mr. Pickles, eat it, and walk over to the church across the street and ask about its architecture. More on that later.

Over the weekend I clarified what was on offer to the auction house. My family had decided to keep the Asian art because it's not worth what we've been insuring it for all of these years. When I notified the auction house that we were keeping the Asian stuff, they politely gave us the finger, which caused certain persons to say that we should put the stuff in storage. Argh. I get that my house is the baleen of the family now, but I'm so pooped and have so little time left. Oh man.

By this morning I was allowed to offer some Asian art to the auction house and we're now back in business. omg. This is my life now. And I really want to be working and playing with my mama.

Anyhoo, back to my sweet mama's observation. My current relaxation is to sit in the chair of my father and grandfather and listen to records from our Tribunal list and reject, reject, reject terrible ones.

Finally, some control. 

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.

Bucket List Addition

The other day in the ancestral manse, I found a pamphlet on knot-tying and put it aside. And it came to me that I have done this dozens of times. I'm obsessed with my inability to tie a knot that holds. My left-handed mom taught me to tie my shoelaces, and I don't think I ever got it quite right. I remember the stress of tying knots in Brownies. I compensated by deciding I didn't care about knots and asking the more knot-gifted, like mrguy, to tie knots where needed. I have to say that I find mrguy's ability to tie a knot a very attractive attribute. He'll tie some bizarre knot that totally holds, and he tells me the story of how he and the Big Guy tied various knots on Big Guy's trimaran. He was kind of a hippie back then (he built the boat himself), but the man knew how to tie a knot and so, now, does his son.

Speaking of which, this morning I was on the phone with mrguy, who is still on vacation with my family at the Big Round River, and I was going to ask him where I could go for coffee. I have either been packing up the mama or on vacation or unpacking the mama for a while now and although I slept at home last night, I'd completely forgotten that I know where the coffee is in this place because I've been, in effect, camping for a while. Weird.

So I made coffee and grabbed my favorite mug, the one from Hamburg, the one with the knots on it. The one I bought three days before I danced in a cage in a gay bar in St. Pauli in my 50th year.

 I guess I need to do something about my knot literacy and knot-tying ability. I have officially amended my bucket list.