Have made it as far as Connecticut with no sign of bloodhounds or bounty hunters waving Depends, no Medecins Sans Frontieres bearing down with nebulizers--so starting to think I may have truly made it out of town. Annie and I celebrated with Chinese food for forty at Little Kitchen in Westport followed by salted caramel soft-serve at Carvel, and am now relaxing with a glass of Whispering Angel rose in front of America's Test Kitchen, learning about never-fail pasta carbonara, and olives. I've eaten more in one night than in my whole two month stay in Becket.
I have three large suitcases and four carry-ons. I have the Royal Danish sterling flatware for twenty, three silver serving bowls, a hard-to-wrap Norwegian pewter hunting horn drinking stein thing, three plates, two paintings in frames, seven crystal water glasses, tea cups, a set of king size sheets, two large throw pillows with crabs on them from Home Goods, dog toys (lots) for my dog Mabel and her boyfriend Stan the Border Terrier, Great Aunt Elise's black cashmere swing coat with mink collar and cuffs my mother gave to a housekeeper about three staff-changes ago and who I had to then email to bring back and which weighs more than I do after this meal tonight--plus all my normal stuff. I watched David Jenkins, my chauffeur to Connecticut, heaving it all into the back of his pick-up, wondering how long he was still going to want me as a friend.
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STAFF ON CALL:
Dominick, entertaining Peg at the nursing home
Terri, Odd-sitting from 1:00 PM until tomorrow morning at 8:00 when Bonnie arrives. When I hope Bonnie arrives. She rang today saying she woke up with vertigo so was staying in bed. My feeling about vertigo is that though undoubtedly disconcerting, especially when, say, behind the wheel, it should never prevent one from driving erratically over the mountain from Monterrey to attend to 95 year old Norwegian gentlemen whose daughter has scarpered.
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Difficult saying goodbye but doable. It's time. It's a good time to leave, while I'm still feeling fed up. Daddy's eyes filled. Promised I'd be back in a few months but--could be sooner, could be later. Like dogs, he has no sense--or very little--of time passing. What seemed to upset him most was the news, which in fact was not news, since I've told him any number of times--that the dog would be leaving on Saturday to go back to its breeder while he and Peg were at the nursing home.
"She'll never survive it!" he said, surprisingly passionately. I explained that not only would she survive it, she would thrive there with all her doggie friends. The plan is for Bonnie, vertigo or not, to rendezvous at 5 PM on Saturday with CarolAnne the breeder, coming from Pine Plains, NY, halfway, in Great Barrington, at Four Brothers Pizza House on Rte 7 South. Well known collie transfer station.Peg now wants to ride down with Bonnie for the "handover". I wash my hands of it.
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Having said a tearful goodbye to Peg yesterday afternoon, today I was informed, early this morning by phone, that she didn't know I was leaving for England, she just thought I was leaving to give Tory her Saab back. I don't buy this but--she's my mother. Her voice breaking, she asked me to please stop and see her on my way out of town. So I did, while David tied luggage down under a rain tarp. She was busy talking to Dominick and quite chirpy. I hugged her and kissed her head told her not to die until her website got up.
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LEAST ENJOYABLE PART OF DAY NOT COUNTING FEELING GUILTY ABOUT FEELING GLAD TO LEAVE :
The discovery that Peg's credit card--which, with her permission, I am entitled to abuse as I see fit--was not in my wallet. Went to dig out accumulated receipts for Bonnie, plus return card. Not there. It is ALWAYS there. I am careful; I am not dizzy. I phoned Babalouie's in Pittsfield to see if I'd left it last night. Got some cleaner on about the five hundredth ring who said the office was locked but anyhow the restaurant had had a break-in last night so maybe best I cancelled the card. Called Bonnie to see what kind of card it was. Got out the "Chase" file. Found an invoice, found a phone number, then got stumped by: "Now enter the first three letters of the main cardholder's mother's maiden name". I put in about thirty-five wrong combinations until finally a real person came on the line. Because I was calling as Margaret Ronning, not her daughter, and I figured since my father's name was listed first on the bill, it must be his mother's maiden name they were after, which was Westby. Seems not. Seems by "maiden" they really meant "first", which prompted a lengthy discussion on how in my opinion Chase needed to wise up and perhaps rethink it's recorded message and MaryAnn, speaking on behalf of Chase, had not the faintest idea what I was going on about so I dropped it. Anyhow she cancelled the card, new ones to be issued and sent by UPS tomorrow.
So. They are there. Peg and Odd. And I am not. They will be well looked after at Laurel Lake for two weeks and if all goes according to plan, which it never does, they will come home on May 20 at which time Terri will move in for a week or until things get back to normal, whatever that is. Peg will go back into Blue Book Mania, Odd will continue to tell her she's marvelous and beautiful every three seconds, need hosing down once or twice a week, and Spurn Me Not Angel Honeybear will come back from the breeder's pregnant and deliver 12 collie puppies hopefully on my bed and use my shoe closet for a bathroom.
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