Not spoken to my mother in a week, not called, not heard from her.
All for the best. Am back writing and all she does when she gets me riled besides making me feel like I'm having a heart attack, is disturb my train of thought. Mentioned this to Bonnie, who says all fine there, not to worry, is best to let some time go by and clear the air until Peg forgets she's pissed off at me (for no reason, might I add). Mostly I'm grateful for the break although it has crossed my mind that while I'm over here calmly typing away being momentarily happy, they're all busy at her lawyer's re-doing her will so that everything goes to that collie kennel in upstate NY. I am sure Bonnie would give me the heads up though. 99.9% sure. Sort of. She's got her hands full at the moment though with her husband being rushed to A & E with heart issues at 3 AM, and I think has now been transferred to Springfield, so Bonnie's leaping to and fro on zero sleep. I wish her luck. With John and with Peg. We all know how hard my mother is to deal with, even after having a full 8 hrs and being drugged out of your mind on Xanax.
Realtor going over to see the house this week so we're both on the same plane. It's hard to describe what I'm up against there, stuff-wise, unless you see it. Am leaning towards either a few million dumpsters or dynamite, and keep thinking about that string of Trap Rock Gravel Co barges that used to pass my island when I lived in Stony Creek, and what a shame it is I can't get them up the hill to Becket.
Half term week in Suffolk. Village a nightmare. Cars streaming in. Alex has worked 11 continuous double shifts at the Anchor and is knackered. DK playing some golf but mostly being useful at home: has now gone through every file and folder in his office, every drawer, every cupboard, and chucked what we don't need anymore or is no longer applicable i.e. massive folders all about insurance on former London flat, piles of (mostly unlabelled) music CDs for village productions he has already saved on computer, approximately 9,000 golf magazines--it's all looking good up there. Organized. Filed. Labelled. Whew. He can now drop dead on the 7th hole and Alex and I will need only days to plough though the paperwork instead of years.
DK's memoirs have now finally gone to printer, who will soon send me a sample, I will find 12 million errors, it will go back--and so on. Actually, by this stage there will (should) only be printing errors to spot (lines missing or repeated or not indented and so on), not my own fuck-ups (i.e. spelling Wilshire thusly, correctly, then Wiltshire two sentences on..etc). Then we push GO. Get the PR guy back on board, get it all listed with hot links on DK's website, get the mass marketing announcement out. I reckon 2 weeks. This is paperback, Kindle and epub versions. No news on audio version, which is out of my hands. Sadly.
And am now 60 pages in writing one of 3 novels on my list To Complete. Taking longer than expected because I am up and down like a yoyo rescuing those bumblebees who fly down the chimney, as I might have mentioned, and am finding it rather challenging to type with Mabel sitting on my lap chewing a rawdhide strip, and then out the window a garden beckons to be tended and watered and pine cones to pitch over the hedge and coffee to be made and scones to be eaten--excuses excuses. But I'm liking the story. So far. But I tell you who won't. Peg. The Amazing 306 Year Old Lady. Who may indeed have "invented sitcom" and be a "genius" but I, for one, don't give a hoot in hell, at this moment in time. She's been not very nice to me, after all. And she should be.
Thursday, May 28, 2015
Friday, May 22, 2015
I HATE MY MOTHER
I wish I didn't, but I think I do. She was so awful to me today on the phone. It isn't dementia, nothing to do with age. She has always been like this. She takes a fact, a story, an incident, the rewrites it over and over in her mind until it's so far from the truth that it goes immediately onto the Sore Subject list, because there is no way I can agree with her version, which never happened, the only way forward is to never discuss it. Except she keeps bringing up Sore Subjects, again and again and again and today I finally lost it after half an hour of accusations and non-stop harangue--and hung up on her, after yelling at her to shut up and bursting into tears. Then walked the dog and vented to anyone we met on our way, in particular an American friend here in the village who has an 85 year old nightmare mother in Arizona who makes Peg look like Pollyanna.
Peg will be out of money now in 2 months. She says it is all my fault. I "said they had to have 3 people working there at all times". No, I didn't. She is confusing this when Daddy was coming home from hospital 18 months ago, and the nursing home told her to get round the clock care for him. Which I vetoed, got Hospice on board, and stayed in Becket for three months to look after them both.
Thank you. Just saying it, because it would be nice to hear now and then.
I have cut staff daytime hours, as of yesterday. Peg will now be alone for 6 hours every day until 8 PM when overnighters arrive. Her choice, I'm not being evil (that's HER job). She has the Staff there 70% of the time just to keep her company, they're not needed medically.
I have been in touch with a realtor. Who may or may not work out because am not sure we see eye to eye on how to sell the place. And who says this is a bad time to look for apartments to rent.
I hate the Becket house. I hate everything in it. I hate my mother.
Peg will be out of money now in 2 months. She says it is all my fault. I "said they had to have 3 people working there at all times". No, I didn't. She is confusing this when Daddy was coming home from hospital 18 months ago, and the nursing home told her to get round the clock care for him. Which I vetoed, got Hospice on board, and stayed in Becket for three months to look after them both.
Thank you. Just saying it, because it would be nice to hear now and then.
I have cut staff daytime hours, as of yesterday. Peg will now be alone for 6 hours every day until 8 PM when overnighters arrive. Her choice, I'm not being evil (that's HER job). She has the Staff there 70% of the time just to keep her company, they're not needed medically.
I have been in touch with a realtor. Who may or may not work out because am not sure we see eye to eye on how to sell the place. And who says this is a bad time to look for apartments to rent.
I hate the Becket house. I hate everything in it. I hate my mother.
Monday, May 18, 2015
COMPLAINTS DEPT.
Peg doesn't like Bonnie's handwriting. Newest major issue. On Bonnie's desk is a big desktop blotter size monthly calendar where appointments are noted, where The Staff write down their hours, and so on. Peg can't read it. A combination of:
1) "having to go all the way into the dining room" (now the office, Command Central, and which is all of nine steps away from the butcherblock)
2) not being able to read Bonnie's handwriting
3) the calendar being too full to read anyhow
4) not understanding the notes even if she could read the writing
Outside Bob, it seems, has trouble with Bonnie's writing too, as does Dominick, although Terri is "fine with it". It has been decided that Bonnie will now:
1) buy a second smaller calendar on which to note essential Peg-related items, appts etc., which Peg can keep near her at the butcherblock in the kitchen.
2) Staff hours will be noted on another calendar
3) Bonnie will try and improve her handwriting (which incidentally I have little or no trouble reading)
Peg doesn't like Terri speaking on the phone to her son at night, it's "keeping her awake". Terri's bed is around the corner from Peg's bed. Her son (31) currently has some troubles and needs his mother's advice and or/take. All perfectly normal, but Terri, it has been decided, will now speak to he son from the kitchen. (While Peg is snoring away)
Peg is confused by the changing schedules of Overnighters Terri and Dominick, which have to do with both Terri and Dominick's other work schedules, as both have other jobs, she works for a charity and he teaches fashion design at a high school. The upshot is that their schedules will continue to change and Peg will continue to remain confused.
Peg is having nightmares about spiders. Nothing to be done on this one. Except maybe get rid of those rubber tarantulas I put under her pillow.
Peg's eyes are red and blurry and she can barely read anymore. Which you'd think would save having to complain about illegible handwriting, but no.
Peg doesn't want to move to an apartment now. Has changed her mind.
1) "having to go all the way into the dining room" (now the office, Command Central, and which is all of nine steps away from the butcherblock)
2) not being able to read Bonnie's handwriting
3) the calendar being too full to read anyhow
4) not understanding the notes even if she could read the writing
Outside Bob, it seems, has trouble with Bonnie's writing too, as does Dominick, although Terri is "fine with it". It has been decided that Bonnie will now:
1) buy a second smaller calendar on which to note essential Peg-related items, appts etc., which Peg can keep near her at the butcherblock in the kitchen.
2) Staff hours will be noted on another calendar
3) Bonnie will try and improve her handwriting (which incidentally I have little or no trouble reading)
Peg doesn't like Terri speaking on the phone to her son at night, it's "keeping her awake". Terri's bed is around the corner from Peg's bed. Her son (31) currently has some troubles and needs his mother's advice and or/take. All perfectly normal, but Terri, it has been decided, will now speak to he son from the kitchen. (While Peg is snoring away)
Peg is confused by the changing schedules of Overnighters Terri and Dominick, which have to do with both Terri and Dominick's other work schedules, as both have other jobs, she works for a charity and he teaches fashion design at a high school. The upshot is that their schedules will continue to change and Peg will continue to remain confused.
Peg is having nightmares about spiders. Nothing to be done on this one. Except maybe get rid of those rubber tarantulas I put under her pillow.
Peg's eyes are red and blurry and she can barely read anymore. Which you'd think would save having to complain about illegible handwriting, but no.
Peg doesn't want to move to an apartment now. Has changed her mind.
despair
noun
- 1.the complete loss or absence of hope.
synonyms: hopelessness, desperation, distress, anguish, pain, unhappiness, dejection, depression, despondency,
verb
- 1.lose or be without hope.
synonyms: lose hope, give up hope, abandon hope, give up, lose heart, be discouraged,
be despondent, be demoralized, resign oneself, throw in the towel/sponge,
quit, surrender,
Thursday, May 14, 2015
COUNTING
....the number of days I have with my family before I have to head across the pond to deal with selling my mother's house. But I can't start the countdown until I get my husband's memoirs launched, which was supposed to have been April 8th. But, oh, various things and people have conspired against us to insure this date was not met. I cannot begin to go into the reasons, just know that Denis has had to increase his prescription for Zopiclone (sleeping pills) and go back on antidepressants. And I have lived with a constant eyestrain headache from proof reading the thing for the nine hundredth time. Finally, though, I do believe there is light at the end of this tunnel. After OK-ing it, I will sign off on the paperback version next week. Leaving only the Kindle and then epub version to proof read and OK. All three can then be up and running at the press of a button. How the Audio version is progressing being loaded onto Audible, however, I have no idea. We have given up. So. When ALL the versions of Key Changes are done and dusted I will book a plane ticket and start counting the days. Am really excited about it too, with the papers full of "Al Qaeda capable of bringing down a transatlantic jet liner from London to America at any moment".
...the ways in which I am going to put the Becket house on the market. Furnished, unfurnished, with 12 acres, with 15 acres, with 25 acres, with a bonus for the realtor if she sells it within a month, with another bonus for her if she also finds an apartment in which to install my mother. And or finds a buyer who would like a 98 year old sleeping in their living room.
...the days until Alex, son and heir, moves out. I like him, but it's--time. He starts music college the end of September, in London. If--if if if--he can find the funding. By this I mean loans, and not from us.
...the number of emails I get regarding Peg's health updates. Bonnie is very thorough. Much more thorough than I would be, I can tell you that. Two hours plus on the phone yesterday, she said, to track down a drug company that makes blood pressure pills tiny enough for Peg to swallow without gagging. Seems Rite Aid cancelled their contract with some company, so can't get them anymore, or they're not making them, or something, anyhow the only place Bonnie can get them now is WalMart and it has to be a special order, and it takes 6 weeks or more. (I would have made Peg take whatever she was sent, that's the kind of caring and concerned daughter I am). Plus they bought a new scale, to weigh Peg every morning. And a thing for her finger to measure her oxygen levels. I am so bored with all this vital-statistic-taking. Okay, there, I said it.
...the number of DVD's I have watched of Peg's old Ethel & Albert kinescopes from the Fifties. Comic Relief Charity, which Peg helped promote last March in the UK, asked if she would help launch their RED NOSE DAY in America, on May 21. They want to feature her on their official website. I said sure. This meant creating a USA based fundraising page, and linking it to a new video. After, as I said, watching about 30 of her half hours. Which meant borrowing an external DVD drive since this mac hated the USA formatting of the disks, and my laptop had no DVD drive. And then getting the chosen disk over to my friend Claire's, who knows about All Things Video, in order to isolate the one show from the four on there. Then get it onto YouTube. Then find out for anything over 30 minutes you need to verify your account. Then write the bumph, link it onto the fundraising page, load a dozen images onto the fundraising page, after resizing them. Then presto. I tell you, piece of cake. I said last March I was never doing this again and I meant it. Except for this last time, of course. The mass mailing goes out tomorrow.
...the number of builders we need to get estimates from regarding the new Peg Hut we want to erect in the garden, and now just called plainly The Hut, because Peg or not, it's going up. As soon as we get a low enough estimate.
...the number of times the Belling company said they were sending their oven repairman, who then fails to show up. We have been sans oven for 8.5 weeks.
...the number of times I have to change the batteries in my (clearly defective) mouse.
...the number of bumblebees that fly down the chimney into my room here as I'm trying to work, which then buzz frantically against the windows until I down tools and home in with my Bee Rescue Kit: a plastic cup and a piece of cardboard. Whereupon I release Babbity Bumble out the front door. Am trying now to think of a way of tagging them, because I swear I keep seeing the same faces in here. Out they go, only to shoot right back up to the roof and back down the chimney again. Today was a 16 bee day. So far.
...the number of posts I have left in me.
...the ways in which I am going to put the Becket house on the market. Furnished, unfurnished, with 12 acres, with 15 acres, with 25 acres, with a bonus for the realtor if she sells it within a month, with another bonus for her if she also finds an apartment in which to install my mother. And or finds a buyer who would like a 98 year old sleeping in their living room.
...the days until Alex, son and heir, moves out. I like him, but it's--time. He starts music college the end of September, in London. If--if if if--he can find the funding. By this I mean loans, and not from us.
...the number of emails I get regarding Peg's health updates. Bonnie is very thorough. Much more thorough than I would be, I can tell you that. Two hours plus on the phone yesterday, she said, to track down a drug company that makes blood pressure pills tiny enough for Peg to swallow without gagging. Seems Rite Aid cancelled their contract with some company, so can't get them anymore, or they're not making them, or something, anyhow the only place Bonnie can get them now is WalMart and it has to be a special order, and it takes 6 weeks or more. (I would have made Peg take whatever she was sent, that's the kind of caring and concerned daughter I am). Plus they bought a new scale, to weigh Peg every morning. And a thing for her finger to measure her oxygen levels. I am so bored with all this vital-statistic-taking. Okay, there, I said it.
...the number of DVD's I have watched of Peg's old Ethel & Albert kinescopes from the Fifties. Comic Relief Charity, which Peg helped promote last March in the UK, asked if she would help launch their RED NOSE DAY in America, on May 21. They want to feature her on their official website. I said sure. This meant creating a USA based fundraising page, and linking it to a new video. After, as I said, watching about 30 of her half hours. Which meant borrowing an external DVD drive since this mac hated the USA formatting of the disks, and my laptop had no DVD drive. And then getting the chosen disk over to my friend Claire's, who knows about All Things Video, in order to isolate the one show from the four on there. Then get it onto YouTube. Then find out for anything over 30 minutes you need to verify your account. Then write the bumph, link it onto the fundraising page, load a dozen images onto the fundraising page, after resizing them. Then presto. I tell you, piece of cake. I said last March I was never doing this again and I meant it. Except for this last time, of course. The mass mailing goes out tomorrow.
...the number of builders we need to get estimates from regarding the new Peg Hut we want to erect in the garden, and now just called plainly The Hut, because Peg or not, it's going up. As soon as we get a low enough estimate.
...the number of times the Belling company said they were sending their oven repairman, who then fails to show up. We have been sans oven for 8.5 weeks.
...the number of times I have to change the batteries in my (clearly defective) mouse.
...the number of bumblebees that fly down the chimney into my room here as I'm trying to work, which then buzz frantically against the windows until I down tools and home in with my Bee Rescue Kit: a plastic cup and a piece of cardboard. Whereupon I release Babbity Bumble out the front door. Am trying now to think of a way of tagging them, because I swear I keep seeing the same faces in here. Out they go, only to shoot right back up to the roof and back down the chimney again. Today was a 16 bee day. So far.
...the number of posts I have left in me.
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
PERFECT HEALTH
Peg had her follow-up visit with her cardiologist last week. She is apparently "absolutely amazing" and "in great shape", which is possibly why she is back to moving furniture around in the middle of the night. Dominick, who was on Peg Overnight Duty, heard a terrible crash about 3am so raced down and there's Peg surrounded by furniture chaos (she puts those slider things under the legs so she can push things around by herself) and in the middle of it all, the big fake mahoghany folding screen that separated Peg's Area from Odd's (now Terri's), on it's side with half the louvres broken or hanging out at weird angles. Then yesterday she's hauling everything out to the porch, then hauling everything from the porch into the kitchen, rearranging the front hall, moving the desk from her room to the hall, moving it back again, moving the keyboard to where the bookcase was, moving the bookcase to.... It's a good thing she wasn't married to a blind person. ("Oops, sorry dear, yes, you're right, there WAS a chair there yesterday!")
And it's not like she has nothing left to do in life (HINT: cupboards cupboards boxes boxes drawers drawers closets attic attic attic).
Yesterday's health report from Bonnie, which is good of her to do but I wish she'd stop sending all the time because it all goes in one ear and out the other, in fact it doesn't even go in:
"Vital signs this morning were: Weight: 119.5, BP 139/66; Heart Rate: 69 and Oxygen 96. Her Blood Sugar today was 85."
But what I need is for her to add things like "Not bad!" or "Pretty good, eh?" or "We're very worried!" though because I have no idea whether these numbers are good or bad. I tried to learn it all when Odd was waning and indeed again when Porchlight the VNA brought over their magic electronic telehealth machine in February and I was shown in great detail how to take all these vital signs and what meant what--but, can't remember. Possibly because what can I do from here? Nothing. So let them deal with it. Them who, unlike me, is getting paid to do these things. Including swab up the contents of her catheter bag which Peg dropped in the front entry way yesterday, because, according to Bonnie, she won't let anyone empty it for her.
FINANCIAL NEWS: none. But I am almost 99% convinced now that the only sensible thing to do is put the house on the market and move my mother to a rental apartment, and keep her happy by tossing in a few pieces of furniture every day for her to shove around.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)