FLAGGING ALREADY

..thinking about the month or so ahead of me. Wondering if indeed I'll be able to come home when I've booked to come home, for once. Wondering what it'll be like without Daddy in the house (to complain about in a blog..). Wondering how long before my patience runs out with Peg. 

"Twenty minutes," Alex says. Den says less.

I wish I had a long term plan. Will sell the house, obviously, but not with Peg still in it. I don't know where else to put her, anyway, or where she'd be happy. Suffolk's out, unless I were filthy rich and could buy her a house here in England's Most Expensive Village complete with staff and Stannah Stairlift. Normally she'd be packed and waiting by the front door but I'm getting the feeling she's cooling to the idea of moving here (DK, stop jumping up and down waving the Union Jack). I think she's realizing it would be--hard--unless of course I can import Bonnie and Terri as well, and Bob and Dominick and Dr. Aucoin and Pablo Cuevas and Tina her hairdresser and Sue Bohmer the urology nurse who changes her catheter every month. I'm having a tiny hutte (cottage) built at the bottom of the garden but it hasn't even gone to the Planners yet. It'll be awhile. 

She could come for a visit, though. Perhaps I can work that out. Sophie from the Anchor has offered a small house she owns down the road there, a minute away, two bedrooms on the ground floor with en suite baths (walk in showers actually, even better). I'd definitely need Bonnie or Terri to come too. And I doubt they would fly alone with her, so I'd have to go get them, and fly back with them, and…it's sounding more and more like a terrible idea but nevertheless I will present it to her, because she's always told me you have to have something in life to look forward to.

I'm looking forward to having no more collies in Becket peeing on the carpets. For example. Am furthermore greatly looking forward to emptying the attic, garage, basement, and potting shed. And figuring out what to do with her 38 Royal Copenhagen Christmas plates besides putting them on eBay or throwing into the fireplace accompanied by bouzouki music and taramasalata.

And getting her bloody website up and running before I completely utterly and totally lose interest in not only the entire Labour Of Love but possibly my mother's entire career and FedEx everything she owns straight to the Peg Lynch Papers at the Universty of Oregon, pronto. And maybe her too if she's not nice to me (and I can get that steamer trunk in the attic emptied).

Please. I could really do with her being nice to me on this trip.