In need of one.
We have been working flat out all week, on what, exactly, am not sure, because I look around the house and everything still seems to be there, when all I want is to see it empty. I know, I know, the trick is to make it LOOK full and just chip away behinds the scenes so Peg doesn't have conniptions about me "throwing out her life" and thinks it all looks the same as it did 20 years ago but probably what it is is I've done such a good job that I've started to believe it myself. I see a shelf full of Tupperware from where I sit right this second (Peg long ago removed all the cupboard doors, for reasons that escape me) and I pretty much want to cry. It's all so silly. Who knew stupid Tupperware could have this effect.
Plus the stupid STUPID Treasury Securities Services in Minnesota that redeems savings bonds has yet again failed to accept my claims form. We go through this every single time. The bond is in my maiden name, my bank account in which I would like the bond deposited is in my married name. And they have trouble with this. So they ring, and we discuss it, and I get the bank to vouch for me, and all is well. And they say great, no problem in the future, we have a record of this now. Until the next time. The only part of this process I enjoy besides seeing the cash mount up in my bank account is ringing the TSS and hearing the recorded voice. HAS to be an actor. It's like some routine from Saturday Night Live. He's so perky, and cheery, and sounds genuinely excited to be able to give me all these options about what numbers to push, for what. (800-553-2663)
On an even brighter side, we launched Peg's website and Tim, Website Designer Magnifico, keeps sending me screen shots of Google Analytics showing me how many hits the website is getting: 8000 page views in the first 24 hours, which is apparently wonderful. "I know you can access this yourself, but..." he says, re Google Analytics, and I smile, reading that, because he has sent me the link about six times and explained what to do and so I go to the link and fart around typing in numbers and emails and passwords for about twenty minutes and it must all WORK because new pages keep coming up but none of them appear to have anything to do with my mother or websites so I look at graphs for awhile and read paragraphs I don't understand and try to figure out the answer to the question "What do you want to do next?" and finally decide I'd like to go do something else, which I then do.
And now for the big news. Peg, during a photo op ceremony at Becket Town Hall attended by the Town Selectman and three others, was presented with something called the Boston Post Cane--an item which for over one hundred and fifty years I was told (because I asked, you can be sure) has been awarded to the Oldest Resident in town. I chose her outfit, did her eye make-up and lipstick, and got rid of a few hairs on her lip (and plucked mine as well). She told funny stories and Denis bonded with a septagenarian real estate agent, Anne Spadafora, who hails from Bexley, in Kent. And who I may indeed get to sell this house.
Will now make To Do List for Salute to Odd Knut on Sunday. Guest list now numbering 50. Maybe I could give them all apple cake to take home, in Tupperware.
Friday, August 29, 2014
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
LAUNCH DAY, AMONG OTHER THINGS
Today I pushed SEND, thereby officially launching my mother's website. The invitation went out to 677 email addresses. It's something I've been working on, fretting over, obsessing about, tearing my hair out over for about four years, probably more. And yet. The clearly orgasmic thrill of hitting that SEND button was nowhere near as delicious as the hot dogs I made for dinner. Which were nothing special. As hot dogs go. Just all beef whatevers, on grilled split rolls with cheese melted under the broiler. But tasted so unbelievably perfect, at that moment, which was about 30 minutes ago, that I could still cry.
Nor could launching the website hold a candle to the feelings of joy and release I experienced by the felling of forty plus saplings and dead pine branches around the driveway Outside Bob and I managed to accomplish with his junior chain saw.
Funny, isn't it?
Plus we got in two HUGE loads on a trailer to the town dump (open Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays) AND managed to clear--almost clear--the back tool room. Nine million phone, computer, stereo cords, broken faucets, mouse-eaten draught excluder, and another nine million unidentifiable (to me) plumbing, electrical or roofing items which Outside Bob grabbed sharpishly for his collection at home. Plus all the dead lino from the back garbage area.
Denis and I managed a quick trip to Lee Outlets to purchase a belated birthday present from me to him: denim shirt at Ralph Lauren outlet, and some aftershave (so can now cross "DEN'S BIRTHDAY GIFT!!!!!!" off my list, which has featured since July). And grabbed trousers for Peg at GAP outlet, which she loves, thank you God.
Have spoken to Genworth, the lawyers, the bank, the catheter mail order place, and a Bill someone from the town hall who I think is the Chief of Police and who wants to know if Peg will accept the "Boston Post Cane", because they want to give it to her, as the Oldest Living Becket Resident. Apparently this cane has been making the rounds since the mid 1800s, when the owner of the Boston Post newspaper had specially made canes sent to all towns in Massachusetts which sold the Boston Post, the idea being the canes would be transferred from one Oldest Resident to the next. And here's me thinking peglynch.com was a good tribute. I could have just given her a cane (many of which I dropped off at Goodwill). She now has to be at the Town Hall on Friday morning to have her picture taken.
I have exactly 38 mosquito bites. Just saying.
Nor could launching the website hold a candle to the feelings of joy and release I experienced by the felling of forty plus saplings and dead pine branches around the driveway Outside Bob and I managed to accomplish with his junior chain saw.
Funny, isn't it?
Plus we got in two HUGE loads on a trailer to the town dump (open Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays) AND managed to clear--almost clear--the back tool room. Nine million phone, computer, stereo cords, broken faucets, mouse-eaten draught excluder, and another nine million unidentifiable (to me) plumbing, electrical or roofing items which Outside Bob grabbed sharpishly for his collection at home. Plus all the dead lino from the back garbage area.
Denis and I managed a quick trip to Lee Outlets to purchase a belated birthday present from me to him: denim shirt at Ralph Lauren outlet, and some aftershave (so can now cross "DEN'S BIRTHDAY GIFT!!!!!!" off my list, which has featured since July). And grabbed trousers for Peg at GAP outlet, which she loves, thank you God.
Have spoken to Genworth, the lawyers, the bank, the catheter mail order place, and a Bill someone from the town hall who I think is the Chief of Police and who wants to know if Peg will accept the "Boston Post Cane", because they want to give it to her, as the Oldest Living Becket Resident. Apparently this cane has been making the rounds since the mid 1800s, when the owner of the Boston Post newspaper had specially made canes sent to all towns in Massachusetts which sold the Boston Post, the idea being the canes would be transferred from one Oldest Resident to the next. And here's me thinking peglynch.com was a good tribute. I could have just given her a cane (many of which I dropped off at Goodwill). She now has to be at the Town Hall on Friday morning to have her picture taken.
I have exactly 38 mosquito bites. Just saying.
Sunday, August 24, 2014
LAST TAG SALE IN HINSDALE
I am pleased to report that having schlepped 12 tons of stuff over to outside Outside Bob's in at 8:00 AM, by 2:00 in the afternoon yesterday Denis and I had sold exactly $30.25 worth of goods, 2:00 in the afternoon being approximately the time I said bugger this for a game of darts and started loading the car back up. At least I tried. We even offered Denis King Big Band Swedish record albums for sale at a special price, signed by the bandleader himself (for an extra 50¢). What I came home with, besides all the unsold crap, now in the garage ready to be schlepped to Goodwill on Tyler Street on Monday en route to Lenox where we're taking Jeanette Roosevelt, who is finally feeling better, to lunch, or perhaps Goodwill, depending how much I can fit in the back---what I came home with is a worrying lower back pain and spent the evening hoping it wasn't the beginning of a herniated disc again, something which set me back for months about 4 years ago. And which I do not need, at this time of Salutes to Odd Knuts and cleaning the north forty and the attic and finding a home for nine million LPs besides the dump.
____________________
EXCELLENT PIECES OF NEWS:
- finding tamarind pulp at Berkshire Organics on the way back from the tag sale, a culinary item I've been scouring the said Berkshires for for about a year. $5.95.
- Denis and I have received news from overseas that we have won a raffle prize at the Walberswick Village fete, which took place yesterday, despite storm clouds forming and despite our absence. I never win anything, ever. The exciting prize? Dinner at the Anchor. The pub where we eat about once a week anyway, where I occasionally cook, and where Alex works.
________________
STAFF ON CALL:
Bonnie, who is doing accounts and laundry and making up beds for anyone staying next weekend helping with the Odd salute and watering plants and being fabulous with Peg, something I am not always able to do, although this morning I did let her peel garlic and cut veg for the Gugerati Green Beans on the menu for tonight along with Prawns Patia (WHICH REQUIRES TAMARIND PULP, lucky or what?) and Royal Chicken Korma--friend and Car Loaner Tory and her guy James here for dinner.
______________
DENIS DUTIES:
- taking all the Ethel and Albert segments off the hundreds of Peg's old time radio convention appearances over the last 30 years and currently on VHS--and transferring them to DVD. Labeled and numbered correctly, various venues and "Alberts" identified correctly, and the exact titles of the particular sketches performed. Which is where we get into the real teamwork, since he knows nothing about years and dates and Alberts and titles, and I do, which is why I am sitting here in the kitchen with him while he does this over by the fireplace on the big TV along with four black machines that Outside Bob has hooked together for us. So I suppose you could not call it strictly Den's job. Especially since I also have to keep getting up to show him again how to format the disk, pause recordings, and finalize discs. Plus now Peg is in on the act and because she wants to hear it we have to have the sound way up, as opposed to off. So in fact I have now retreated to the den. Which means I now have farther to go when I have to keep leaping up to help. Still. It feels good to delegate. Later we get to attack the tool cupboard. What a day this is turning out to be.
____________________
EXCELLENT PIECES OF NEWS:
- finding tamarind pulp at Berkshire Organics on the way back from the tag sale, a culinary item I've been scouring the said Berkshires for for about a year. $5.95.
- Denis and I have received news from overseas that we have won a raffle prize at the Walberswick Village fete, which took place yesterday, despite storm clouds forming and despite our absence. I never win anything, ever. The exciting prize? Dinner at the Anchor. The pub where we eat about once a week anyway, where I occasionally cook, and where Alex works.
________________
STAFF ON CALL:
Bonnie, who is doing accounts and laundry and making up beds for anyone staying next weekend helping with the Odd salute and watering plants and being fabulous with Peg, something I am not always able to do, although this morning I did let her peel garlic and cut veg for the Gugerati Green Beans on the menu for tonight along with Prawns Patia (WHICH REQUIRES TAMARIND PULP, lucky or what?) and Royal Chicken Korma--friend and Car Loaner Tory and her guy James here for dinner.
______________
DENIS DUTIES:
- taking all the Ethel and Albert segments off the hundreds of Peg's old time radio convention appearances over the last 30 years and currently on VHS--and transferring them to DVD. Labeled and numbered correctly, various venues and "Alberts" identified correctly, and the exact titles of the particular sketches performed. Which is where we get into the real teamwork, since he knows nothing about years and dates and Alberts and titles, and I do, which is why I am sitting here in the kitchen with him while he does this over by the fireplace on the big TV along with four black machines that Outside Bob has hooked together for us. So I suppose you could not call it strictly Den's job. Especially since I also have to keep getting up to show him again how to format the disk, pause recordings, and finalize discs. Plus now Peg is in on the act and because she wants to hear it we have to have the sound way up, as opposed to off. So in fact I have now retreated to the den. Which means I now have farther to go when I have to keep leaping up to help. Still. It feels good to delegate. Later we get to attack the tool cupboard. What a day this is turning out to be.
Friday, August 22, 2014
AND PS
And PS tonight I hate my mother, she is being foul, obsessing about her pills, mixed them all up, ruined dinner, acting like we're trying to kill her with giving her the wrong ones, will not just open the compartment marked FRIDAY MORNING or FRIDAY EVENING and take what's inside, Bonnie has NEVER put the wrong pill in anyone's pill dish, ever, Peg now pouring them all out, all the days, a pile on her placemat, saying the only pill she needs is the gout pill, she HAS to take the gout pill, she takes it EVERY night. Yeah right. Confused confused confused and attacking me. Denis has now retreated upstairs, also mad at me.
I now don't give a fuck what pills she takes when, half of them end up on the floor anyway.
I now don't give a fuck what pills she takes when, half of them end up on the floor anyway.
PLANS AFOOT
Or at least am attempting to have plans afoot, Secret People, black and white Brit film circa God knows starring Audrey Hepburn looking twelve BLARING from the butcher block at ten in the morning, Peg and Dominick glued and I cannot think. Trying to do shopping lists and guest lists and so on and keep needing to run to the spice shelf or pantry or phone book so a waste of time heading upstairs with the laptop.
The decision has been made: we are going to hold a grand Salute to Odd Knut on the 31st of this month, here, at 11:00 AM. A Norwegian Coffee Morning (but Akvavit bottles already chilling in the freezer). All welcome, just let me know so I know how many vafler to make. Vafler being Norsk for little heart-shaped individual waffles that you serve room temperature with homemade (good luck here) raspberry jam and whipped cream. This is of course contingent on Wendy coming from Vermont and bringing her heart shaped vafler iron, since DK didn't want to schlep mine over from England for some reason. Will also do eplekake, which we all know to mean apple cake, about 3 kinds open-faced sandwiches, and some shrimp. Denis will play Odd's favorite songs on the piano and says a few words. Alex will be sending over a tribute of his own, I will come up with something to say, and Peg has in mind a story she keeps saying she wants to tell but it's all about her so am trying to talk her out of it and into another one in which he's at least mentioned.
Ashes will be scattered after speeches. Am slightly worried about this part. Have done a Border Terrier but not a Papa.
___________________
PAPERWORK SUCCESSES:
- Odd's Prudential Life Insurance has coughed up, meaning we can afford the shrimp for the Salute.
- Peg got two more letters off to people she started to write to last year then lost interest or just plain lost.
- Copies of Peg and Odd's marriage certificate arrived from the City Clerk of NYC, which means I filled out a form correctly for once and sent the right amount of money ($25).
- I found my shopping list for Waitrose (Brit supermarket) which I'd really really wanted last May when I was shopping for a dinner do and could remember nothing on it except Q-Tips. Which in fact ended up being a little tough.
_____________________
Tag Sale tomorrow. Will be up bright and early with DK to be over at Outside Bob's in Hinsdale by 8 AM to set up. DK went with me to the Berkshire Bank (America's Most Exciting Bank) today in Allendale so I could get some cash--dollar bills and quarters for the "float". He asked the teller, a woman named Kitty, according to her tag, if she was excited to see him, if it was as exciting to work in Berkshire Bank as it was to walk in as a customer, and what did people do if the excitement became too much and they passed out. We then hit Bed Bath & Beyond and bought a giant thermos in which to keep Salute To Odd Knut coffee hot, got a cheeseburger at 5 Guys, dropped my watch at the jeweler's to get a new battery which they said would take awhile because it was a Timex (Peg's, in fact, that I pinched) and jewelers hate Timexes because they have notoriously difficult backs to remove. Next stop TJMAXx for sweet FA, then WalMart for two sweatshirts for DK and to look for pants for Peg (none) and finally Staples for about eighty million miles of bubble wrap. Am tired of making decisions about stuff and finding boxes for stuff and pleading with people to take stuff and having to sneak stuff past Peg who has been a bit low today and saying she "might as well just go and kill" herself because she's "just a nuisance" and--the thinking now is why not just wrap the entire house up, like those suitcases you see at airports that have been cocooned in cling-film. And see who might want it. And if I can poke some air holes for Peg.
The decision has been made: we are going to hold a grand Salute to Odd Knut on the 31st of this month, here, at 11:00 AM. A Norwegian Coffee Morning (but Akvavit bottles already chilling in the freezer). All welcome, just let me know so I know how many vafler to make. Vafler being Norsk for little heart-shaped individual waffles that you serve room temperature with homemade (good luck here) raspberry jam and whipped cream. This is of course contingent on Wendy coming from Vermont and bringing her heart shaped vafler iron, since DK didn't want to schlep mine over from England for some reason. Will also do eplekake, which we all know to mean apple cake, about 3 kinds open-faced sandwiches, and some shrimp. Denis will play Odd's favorite songs on the piano and says a few words. Alex will be sending over a tribute of his own, I will come up with something to say, and Peg has in mind a story she keeps saying she wants to tell but it's all about her so am trying to talk her out of it and into another one in which he's at least mentioned.
Ashes will be scattered after speeches. Am slightly worried about this part. Have done a Border Terrier but not a Papa.
___________________
PAPERWORK SUCCESSES:
- Odd's Prudential Life Insurance has coughed up, meaning we can afford the shrimp for the Salute.
- Peg got two more letters off to people she started to write to last year then lost interest or just plain lost.
- Copies of Peg and Odd's marriage certificate arrived from the City Clerk of NYC, which means I filled out a form correctly for once and sent the right amount of money ($25).
- I found my shopping list for Waitrose (Brit supermarket) which I'd really really wanted last May when I was shopping for a dinner do and could remember nothing on it except Q-Tips. Which in fact ended up being a little tough.
_____________________
Tag Sale tomorrow. Will be up bright and early with DK to be over at Outside Bob's in Hinsdale by 8 AM to set up. DK went with me to the Berkshire Bank (America's Most Exciting Bank) today in Allendale so I could get some cash--dollar bills and quarters for the "float". He asked the teller, a woman named Kitty, according to her tag, if she was excited to see him, if it was as exciting to work in Berkshire Bank as it was to walk in as a customer, and what did people do if the excitement became too much and they passed out. We then hit Bed Bath & Beyond and bought a giant thermos in which to keep Salute To Odd Knut coffee hot, got a cheeseburger at 5 Guys, dropped my watch at the jeweler's to get a new battery which they said would take awhile because it was a Timex (Peg's, in fact, that I pinched) and jewelers hate Timexes because they have notoriously difficult backs to remove. Next stop TJMAXx for sweet FA, then WalMart for two sweatshirts for DK and to look for pants for Peg (none) and finally Staples for about eighty million miles of bubble wrap. Am tired of making decisions about stuff and finding boxes for stuff and pleading with people to take stuff and having to sneak stuff past Peg who has been a bit low today and saying she "might as well just go and kill" herself because she's "just a nuisance" and--the thinking now is why not just wrap the entire house up, like those suitcases you see at airports that have been cocooned in cling-film. And see who might want it. And if I can poke some air holes for Peg.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
HUSBAND BY MY SIDE
He's here, he's here, he's finally here! And already saying how great the place looks and how clean (nothing to do with me, all Bonnie) and what great strides I've made and how beautiful and tended the flowers look and the lower garden--it's almost like someone's been feeding Denis his lines. But whatever the case, I'm buying it, because it's what I want, need, to hear. Tonight we celebrate with Filets of Grey Sole, tomorrow we roll up our sleeves and get on with it.
I notice, in my 24 hour absence, that quite a number of items earmarked for The Tag Sale which I had stored on the porch--have vanished. I am hoping that Bonnie has helped herself, as I told her to do, but easily one third of everything has disappeared. I imagine I will discover it one day all squirreled away under Assorted Piles in Peg's Area. There must be a word for Inability To Part With Belongings.
Whereas I am so bloody sick of things things things that heading into the swamp with the Rugarou with nothing on my back save for a furry Sasquatch costume is starting to sound attractive, except of course in the summer, when it might be too hot, in which case I will audition for Naked and Afraid where my first success will be a skillfully designed and executed mumu made of banana leaves with special detachable sleeves to cover my not so attractive upper arms when the cameras are on.
____________________
BOUNDARY DISPUTE UPDATE:
Nothing has been resolved, despite 101 exchanges of emails and 101 visits to the Becket Town Hall--except that Mr. Sanders is getting progressively more and more pissed off at me for delaying the signing of the proposed Agreement, and I'm getting more and more annoyed at him for not agreeing to pay my lawyer's fees to OK it. Not to mention sick of the whole subject.
______________________
PAPERWORK UPDATE:
I can report success in the following areas....
My father's Norwegian Pulp and Paper Engineer Society or whatever its called has, thanks to Norwegian cousins looking into this for me, paid the 6000 kroner towards his "funeral expenses" as promised (about $1000).
My father's Beloit Company Pension has been processed by the John Hancock Company and Peg has already received her first benefit check.
My mother's Genworth Long Term Care, as stated in her policy, has coughed up for her nursing home stay and for a three month Home Recovery period.
Genworth has been notified of my father's death and will be issuing a refund on the premium payment we made last January.
Mutual of Omaha has been noticed of my father's death and they have issued a refund on the last premium paid. I am now trying to recall what Mutual of Omaha is or does, I think this was travel insurance?
I have officially signed an executor's form from the lawyer to enable The Estate of Odd K Ronning to be created, and thence a bank account, and thence enable us to sell the few shares of Verizon and Vodaphone and Comcast that Prudential saddled my father with, probably with the best intentions and not to make life difficult for me, but still. Waiting now for the lawyer's bill to be higher than the value of the sold stock.
_____________
While sitting at the butcher block watching a Debbie Reynolds and Andy Griffith movie from 1961, the name of which escapes me, Peg shucked the dozen ears of Silver Queen corn I brought up from Connecticut without knocking the brown plastic container of my father's ashes into the garbage, an item which I only recognized after closer inspection and then removed, sharpishly, to somewhere safe not in the kitchen. She said she'd forgotten it, she'd brought it out here this morning to weigh him.
(Daddy weighs 8 pounds, for your information).
I notice, in my 24 hour absence, that quite a number of items earmarked for The Tag Sale which I had stored on the porch--have vanished. I am hoping that Bonnie has helped herself, as I told her to do, but easily one third of everything has disappeared. I imagine I will discover it one day all squirreled away under Assorted Piles in Peg's Area. There must be a word for Inability To Part With Belongings.
Whereas I am so bloody sick of things things things that heading into the swamp with the Rugarou with nothing on my back save for a furry Sasquatch costume is starting to sound attractive, except of course in the summer, when it might be too hot, in which case I will audition for Naked and Afraid where my first success will be a skillfully designed and executed mumu made of banana leaves with special detachable sleeves to cover my not so attractive upper arms when the cameras are on.
____________________
BOUNDARY DISPUTE UPDATE:
Nothing has been resolved, despite 101 exchanges of emails and 101 visits to the Becket Town Hall--except that Mr. Sanders is getting progressively more and more pissed off at me for delaying the signing of the proposed Agreement, and I'm getting more and more annoyed at him for not agreeing to pay my lawyer's fees to OK it. Not to mention sick of the whole subject.
______________________
PAPERWORK UPDATE:
I can report success in the following areas....
My father's Norwegian Pulp and Paper Engineer Society or whatever its called has, thanks to Norwegian cousins looking into this for me, paid the 6000 kroner towards his "funeral expenses" as promised (about $1000).
My father's Beloit Company Pension has been processed by the John Hancock Company and Peg has already received her first benefit check.
My mother's Genworth Long Term Care, as stated in her policy, has coughed up for her nursing home stay and for a three month Home Recovery period.
Genworth has been notified of my father's death and will be issuing a refund on the premium payment we made last January.
Mutual of Omaha has been noticed of my father's death and they have issued a refund on the last premium paid. I am now trying to recall what Mutual of Omaha is or does, I think this was travel insurance?
I have officially signed an executor's form from the lawyer to enable The Estate of Odd K Ronning to be created, and thence a bank account, and thence enable us to sell the few shares of Verizon and Vodaphone and Comcast that Prudential saddled my father with, probably with the best intentions and not to make life difficult for me, but still. Waiting now for the lawyer's bill to be higher than the value of the sold stock.
_____________
While sitting at the butcher block watching a Debbie Reynolds and Andy Griffith movie from 1961, the name of which escapes me, Peg shucked the dozen ears of Silver Queen corn I brought up from Connecticut without knocking the brown plastic container of my father's ashes into the garbage, an item which I only recognized after closer inspection and then removed, sharpishly, to somewhere safe not in the kitchen. She said she'd forgotten it, she'd brought it out here this morning to weigh him.
(Daddy weighs 8 pounds, for your information).
Monday, August 18, 2014
BECKET GAL
Got on my boots and shorts and tank top and hat and skeeter spray and headed out to the north (south, east and west) forty with Outside Bob and his chain saw this afternoon and golly, boy, whee, we shore did do some heavy choppin and cuttin an cullin. Place looks a helluva sight better for it too, I reckon. Bob only got hisself stung twice by a herd a bees, and I took a tumble yankin out some pesky prickers, but nothing broke and no ticks and the sunlight's now streamin in where it aint seen daylight in ten years and I am one pleased petunia.
On top of which, this morning I set Peg a task, which she actually completed: signing cards and photos from people who asked for autographs---about 5 years ago. Or more. Found a huge pile of unanswered requests and felt sick that she'd ignored them. How does this happen?? I know years ago she had Aunt Helen aka The Perfect Secretary to sort things and make her sign stuff and find stamps and--but anyone who's worked here has been capable of that too. It's Peg. It's all her. She makes some excuse. "No no no, give me that, I'LL answer him, I want to write a letter..."
And then usually, she never does, and we never see the letter again. Some of these requests are so old that the paper clips attaching the return already-addressed and stamped envelopes are rusty. Are these people even still alive? Still at this address? Who knows? I just could not bear to throw them out. They were so kind, the letters so grateful. Little dreaming they were addressing a person who would file their request carefully in a box full of scotch tape rolls, a New York Times Book Review, a curler, and assorted catheter bags.
__________________________
FAVOURITE LETTER SO FAR:
To the Mentholatum Company. A fan letter. Peg's idea, who has been using it apparently since she was five and her mother--Dr. Charlie Mayo's (of the Mayo Clinic's Mayos) personal orthopedic nurse--tucked a little metal container of it in her school bag after her tonsils have been removed. And it is still in her purse. I do not joke. Actually, it was a funny letter. Typed on her ancient IBM Selectric and full of typos but that's half the charm. I rolled my eyes a little bit when she said what she was doing but having read it, I will now be extremely pissed off at the CEO of Mentholatum Inc if Peg gets no reply. And I will write to the CEO chewing him out, too. Because of course I have nothing else to do.
__________________________
TODAY'S BACKGROUND FILM:
A Claudette Colbert double feature: Tomorrow Is Forever, opposite George Brent and Orson Welles. And It Happened One Night, with Gable. Why Peg was glued, I have no idea why since Colbert was rude and rather imperious and never spoke to her when they did a General Motors 50th Anniversary TV Spectacular together in the mid 50s.
___________________________
TONIGHT'S DINNER:
Salmon Loaf, don't gag, it's not bad, and baked potatoes. Her mother's recipe. The timer just dinged and I know Peg has fallen back asleep. I woke her at 5 PM, she said she was trying to be quiet and stall getting up so as not to wake me. I told her it wasn't morning, it was evening She has no sense of time whatsoever. But is reading Davud Sedaris and laughing so I forgive her. Even though yesterday she took all the dishes out of the dishwasher and washed them by hand for no other reason than she "didnt know if they were clean in there or dirty".
Denis arrives tomorrow. I'm glad.
On top of which, this morning I set Peg a task, which she actually completed: signing cards and photos from people who asked for autographs---about 5 years ago. Or more. Found a huge pile of unanswered requests and felt sick that she'd ignored them. How does this happen?? I know years ago she had Aunt Helen aka The Perfect Secretary to sort things and make her sign stuff and find stamps and--but anyone who's worked here has been capable of that too. It's Peg. It's all her. She makes some excuse. "No no no, give me that, I'LL answer him, I want to write a letter..."
And then usually, she never does, and we never see the letter again. Some of these requests are so old that the paper clips attaching the return already-addressed and stamped envelopes are rusty. Are these people even still alive? Still at this address? Who knows? I just could not bear to throw them out. They were so kind, the letters so grateful. Little dreaming they were addressing a person who would file their request carefully in a box full of scotch tape rolls, a New York Times Book Review, a curler, and assorted catheter bags.
__________________________
FAVOURITE LETTER SO FAR:
To the Mentholatum Company. A fan letter. Peg's idea, who has been using it apparently since she was five and her mother--Dr. Charlie Mayo's (of the Mayo Clinic's Mayos) personal orthopedic nurse--tucked a little metal container of it in her school bag after her tonsils have been removed. And it is still in her purse. I do not joke. Actually, it was a funny letter. Typed on her ancient IBM Selectric and full of typos but that's half the charm. I rolled my eyes a little bit when she said what she was doing but having read it, I will now be extremely pissed off at the CEO of Mentholatum Inc if Peg gets no reply. And I will write to the CEO chewing him out, too. Because of course I have nothing else to do.
__________________________
TODAY'S BACKGROUND FILM:
A Claudette Colbert double feature: Tomorrow Is Forever, opposite George Brent and Orson Welles. And It Happened One Night, with Gable. Why Peg was glued, I have no idea why since Colbert was rude and rather imperious and never spoke to her when they did a General Motors 50th Anniversary TV Spectacular together in the mid 50s.
___________________________
TONIGHT'S DINNER:
Salmon Loaf, don't gag, it's not bad, and baked potatoes. Her mother's recipe. The timer just dinged and I know Peg has fallen back asleep. I woke her at 5 PM, she said she was trying to be quiet and stall getting up so as not to wake me. I told her it wasn't morning, it was evening She has no sense of time whatsoever. But is reading Davud Sedaris and laughing so I forgive her. Even though yesterday she took all the dishes out of the dishwasher and washed them by hand for no other reason than she "didnt know if they were clean in there or dirty".
Denis arrives tomorrow. I'm glad.
Saturday, August 16, 2014
SATURDAY ACCOMPLISHMENTS
Slept late. Not sure why. 9:00 AM. Raced downstairs in my nightshirt to check on Peg. Absolutely fine. In kitchen at butcherblock having bananas with cream and sugar. Some dreadful crap on TV. History Channel. Murders and voodoo and missing boys and chasing the Rugarou--like Sasquatch or the Yeti--in the bayous of Louisiana. Discussed how awful it was for about ten minutes, after which I became thoroughly hooked and stayed watching, in my nightshirt, teeth unbrushed, hair uncombed, for over an hour, getting the creeps and worried sick about the two boys lost in the swamp. Raced to take a shower. Raced back. BOYS FOUND! But turned out to be a two hour show, continues tomorrow or next week, when we find out who's responsible for all the murders. COULD be the Jugganau Family (swamp inbreds) see, or, well, could be the Rugarou (from the French, Loup de Loup: werewolf). If the case is not wrapped up by September 4th, am changing my flight.
Peg meanwhile did 8 more thank you notes, after which we went through three trays of saved correspondence, all of which she saved, and half of which I pitched when she was looking at the TV. Then while she napped I tried to empty a few more cupboards and add to the Tag Sale Pile on the porch. It is now my personal belief that while we sleep, the Rugarou is sneaking into the house and re-filling all the cupboards and drawers.
I also weeded or three hours, the result being I have had to take a couple of Advil because I ache.
Peg woke at 6:30 for Shepherd's Pie and mash and stir fried leeks and savoy and mushrooms, plus some ramps, wild onion things I found at Berkshire Organic last week and needed to use before I found them decaying in the fridge in six months. She's now sleeping at the butcherblock while "Foreign Correspondent" with Joel McCrea and Laraine Day blares.
Have made an initial foray into her address book file. A project for tomorrow. Twelve million wads of loose pages of typed out, alphabetized names and addresses and phone numbers, all duplicated at least six or seven times in various wads, all meticulously compiled by former employees, at Peg's request, and then forgotten in folders and never actually coordinated or put into a usable binder. Had a look at one of the "A" pages just now and immediately crossed off eleven of the entries. "A" for All Dead. With any luck can cull this down to a three page address book.
It's lonely here without Bonnie working. Plus I have to shovel up after Peg, which Bonnie is good at and I am not. Well, am OK at it technically, but Bonnie does it with better humor.
Peg meanwhile did 8 more thank you notes, after which we went through three trays of saved correspondence, all of which she saved, and half of which I pitched when she was looking at the TV. Then while she napped I tried to empty a few more cupboards and add to the Tag Sale Pile on the porch. It is now my personal belief that while we sleep, the Rugarou is sneaking into the house and re-filling all the cupboards and drawers.
I also weeded or three hours, the result being I have had to take a couple of Advil because I ache.
Peg woke at 6:30 for Shepherd's Pie and mash and stir fried leeks and savoy and mushrooms, plus some ramps, wild onion things I found at Berkshire Organic last week and needed to use before I found them decaying in the fridge in six months. She's now sleeping at the butcherblock while "Foreign Correspondent" with Joel McCrea and Laraine Day blares.
Have made an initial foray into her address book file. A project for tomorrow. Twelve million wads of loose pages of typed out, alphabetized names and addresses and phone numbers, all duplicated at least six or seven times in various wads, all meticulously compiled by former employees, at Peg's request, and then forgotten in folders and never actually coordinated or put into a usable binder. Had a look at one of the "A" pages just now and immediately crossed off eleven of the entries. "A" for All Dead. With any luck can cull this down to a three page address book.
It's lonely here without Bonnie working. Plus I have to shovel up after Peg, which Bonnie is good at and I am not. Well, am OK at it technically, but Bonnie does it with better humor.
Friday, August 15, 2014
OVERWHELMED
Totally and utterly today. First and foremost by the sheer amount of stuff two people can collect in 66 years of marriage. Collect and keep and never get rid of. Never want to get rid of. In this house, this house that at this moment is closing in on me and making me crazy and wanting to hunt for a can of kerosene, holds goods and chattels from, in no particular order:
- the 28 room with 13 outbuildings Fairfield, CT house they moved up here from in 1970
- my mother's Gramercy Park apartment
- her mother's apartment in Rochester, Minnesota
- the house my mother grew up in in Kasson, Minnesota
- the log cabin my great-grandmother grew up in in North Dakota
- my mother's "Ethel and Albert" TV show set
- my father's bedroom in Norway
- my father's cabin in Lenox, Massachusetts
- my Great Aunt Helen's apartment in Fairfield
- my Great Aunt Elise's house in Bronxville, NY
- the island house I lived in in Branford CT before moving to England
And we are talking furniture here, not just salad plates or trinkets. Sofas, dining tables, lamps, whole kitchen units that say "Property of CBS" on the back, file cabinets, wormy chestnut office desks, paneling, akvavit decanters, rugs, end tables--you can sit down anywhere in this house and have at least five choices as to where to set down your drink. Add to this over 10, 000 scripts (seriously) and the rest of my mother's archive, any prop I have ever made during my theatrical career that Peg refuses to part with (a plumed helmet for the Knight of the Mirrors from Man of La Mancha, a cardboard model of a house made for The Masterbuilder to name a few), books, books, books and more books, more Norwegian pewter than you've ever seen in your life, a flat screen TV approximately every four feet, and about twelve hundred particle-board bookcases from Staples.
One despairs, is I believe the expression.
_______________
STAFF ON CALL: Dominick, who along with Tory The Subaru-Owner (who brought me a superb veggie burrito for lunch from Baja Charlie's in Lee) helped me attack a couple of closets and a corner of the attic while Peg was napping and which we then divvied up into DUMP, GOODWILL, and OUTSIDE BOB'S TAG SALE piles, all of which now reside in the upstairs hall and the landing, awaiting their final destination.
And you know what the sad part is?
Sure, there's a pile or two to trip over now, but otherwise, despite all our efforts, trucking stuff down from the attic, and sorting and culling and binning six miles of plastic Christmas pine garlands and 6 Christmas trees and stands and about a thousand empty boxes I am sick of saving and giving my Aunt Helen's Singer sewing machine and matching card table to Tory--the house doesn't look one bit different. And this is getting to me.
_________________
Secondly, am overwhelmed by paperwork (again). First from the lawyer, who I--oh Christ. This is so tedious I don't even think I can write about it. Prudential, with whom Odd had a small life insurance policy, at some point divided or did something stock-like and handed out little bits of Vodophone, Verizon and Comcast to their policy holders. Odd's share was no big deal. Worth about $1000, tops. Lawyer has suggested I either transfer the shares to Peg (so she gets the twelve cents a year in dividends) or sell them, so I don't have to go through the paperwork again when she goes. Fair enough. BUT, now it seems to do this we have to Create an Estate of Odd Knut Ronning and appoint me as executor and open a bank account in this name and then deal with Probate---all because of these stupid 3 stocks. And I am of the opinion that my legal fees for all these transactions are going to be higher than what the stock is worth. My lawyer friend Paul, who was just here for dinner, which he and his wife brought (my kind of friend) said I could just refuse the stocks, i.e. forfeit the money. Which I wouldn't be making anyway what with Virginia's (my real lawyer's) fees of $3000 per millesecond. So, now, have to look into this and try and make sense of her letters and forms that arrived today and could almost be in another language they're so confusing but am tired by now and if I thought about it hard enough, am sure could have a nice little Poor Me weep. In fact could anyway.
__________________
Thirdly, the Boundary Issue, which I was just about to pat myself on the back over for resolving with everyone coming out happy--I now will have to re-think, after an email from a property developer good friend, family, really, who urges me to find a civil engineer and look into drainage and fuck knows I know nothing about (or care) and Jesus H. Do I need this! One asks. But then, one also asks, do I want to be taken advantage of..?
My head is all over the place and I think I'm drinking too much, am certainly eating too much, and it's gotten so cold here I need sweaters which I don't have and my black jeans and I wish I'd brought my cowboy boots and Peg wouldn't finish her thank you notes for the condolence cards she's received because her handwriting with the black Flair pen was going off on a slant and I wouldn't get a ruler and pencil in lines for her to write on. What a cruel, cruel daughter.
A cruel daughter in a bad, overwhelmed mood. Drinking wine. While attacking three kitchen drawers and hopefully getting rid of the ugly stainless fish forks and knives for 20, the front and rear brown ceramic dachshund dog corn holders, the seagull salt and pepper shakers, and a spoon with the initial "G" on it, which must have been stolen from some hotel. So it's not all doom and gloom here.
- the 28 room with 13 outbuildings Fairfield, CT house they moved up here from in 1970
- my mother's Gramercy Park apartment
- her mother's apartment in Rochester, Minnesota
- the house my mother grew up in in Kasson, Minnesota
- the log cabin my great-grandmother grew up in in North Dakota
- my mother's "Ethel and Albert" TV show set
- my father's bedroom in Norway
- my father's cabin in Lenox, Massachusetts
- my Great Aunt Helen's apartment in Fairfield
- my Great Aunt Elise's house in Bronxville, NY
- the island house I lived in in Branford CT before moving to England
And we are talking furniture here, not just salad plates or trinkets. Sofas, dining tables, lamps, whole kitchen units that say "Property of CBS" on the back, file cabinets, wormy chestnut office desks, paneling, akvavit decanters, rugs, end tables--you can sit down anywhere in this house and have at least five choices as to where to set down your drink. Add to this over 10, 000 scripts (seriously) and the rest of my mother's archive, any prop I have ever made during my theatrical career that Peg refuses to part with (a plumed helmet for the Knight of the Mirrors from Man of La Mancha, a cardboard model of a house made for The Masterbuilder to name a few), books, books, books and more books, more Norwegian pewter than you've ever seen in your life, a flat screen TV approximately every four feet, and about twelve hundred particle-board bookcases from Staples.
One despairs, is I believe the expression.
_______________
STAFF ON CALL: Dominick, who along with Tory The Subaru-Owner (who brought me a superb veggie burrito for lunch from Baja Charlie's in Lee) helped me attack a couple of closets and a corner of the attic while Peg was napping and which we then divvied up into DUMP, GOODWILL, and OUTSIDE BOB'S TAG SALE piles, all of which now reside in the upstairs hall and the landing, awaiting their final destination.
And you know what the sad part is?
Sure, there's a pile or two to trip over now, but otherwise, despite all our efforts, trucking stuff down from the attic, and sorting and culling and binning six miles of plastic Christmas pine garlands and 6 Christmas trees and stands and about a thousand empty boxes I am sick of saving and giving my Aunt Helen's Singer sewing machine and matching card table to Tory--the house doesn't look one bit different. And this is getting to me.
_________________
Secondly, am overwhelmed by paperwork (again). First from the lawyer, who I--oh Christ. This is so tedious I don't even think I can write about it. Prudential, with whom Odd had a small life insurance policy, at some point divided or did something stock-like and handed out little bits of Vodophone, Verizon and Comcast to their policy holders. Odd's share was no big deal. Worth about $1000, tops. Lawyer has suggested I either transfer the shares to Peg (so she gets the twelve cents a year in dividends) or sell them, so I don't have to go through the paperwork again when she goes. Fair enough. BUT, now it seems to do this we have to Create an Estate of Odd Knut Ronning and appoint me as executor and open a bank account in this name and then deal with Probate---all because of these stupid 3 stocks. And I am of the opinion that my legal fees for all these transactions are going to be higher than what the stock is worth. My lawyer friend Paul, who was just here for dinner, which he and his wife brought (my kind of friend) said I could just refuse the stocks, i.e. forfeit the money. Which I wouldn't be making anyway what with Virginia's (my real lawyer's) fees of $3000 per millesecond. So, now, have to look into this and try and make sense of her letters and forms that arrived today and could almost be in another language they're so confusing but am tired by now and if I thought about it hard enough, am sure could have a nice little Poor Me weep. In fact could anyway.
__________________
Thirdly, the Boundary Issue, which I was just about to pat myself on the back over for resolving with everyone coming out happy--I now will have to re-think, after an email from a property developer good friend, family, really, who urges me to find a civil engineer and look into drainage and fuck knows I know nothing about (or care) and Jesus H. Do I need this! One asks. But then, one also asks, do I want to be taken advantage of..?
My head is all over the place and I think I'm drinking too much, am certainly eating too much, and it's gotten so cold here I need sweaters which I don't have and my black jeans and I wish I'd brought my cowboy boots and Peg wouldn't finish her thank you notes for the condolence cards she's received because her handwriting with the black Flair pen was going off on a slant and I wouldn't get a ruler and pencil in lines for her to write on. What a cruel, cruel daughter.
A cruel daughter in a bad, overwhelmed mood. Drinking wine. While attacking three kitchen drawers and hopefully getting rid of the ugly stainless fish forks and knives for 20, the front and rear brown ceramic dachshund dog corn holders, the seagull salt and pepper shakers, and a spoon with the initial "G" on it, which must have been stolen from some hotel. So it's not all doom and gloom here.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
LOST IT AT THE BANK
Our big day out for a fun lunch with Jeanette Roosevelt, formerly married to FDR's grandson Curtis, starts with me phoning Jeanette to remind her (for the third time in three days) and this pathetic, tiny voice answers, not sounding like Jeanette but IS Jeanette. She is not well, she says, at all, feels weak, dizzy, doesn't know what's wrong, has called the nurse and the doctor. She is 94 and lives in Kimball Farms Retirement Village in Lenox. No dependents. I try and see her for lunch once or twice every time I'm over here. I don't have a good feeling about this latest development and neither does Peg. Am hoping Jeanette's OK, because I love her, but scared to call in case I wake her. Was about to send a bouquet from Pro-Flowers but the earliest they could deliver was next Wednesday and..Miss Penny-Pincher here suddenly thought Christ, what if Jeanette, God forbid, doesn't make it to next Wednesday and I've bought $60 worth of roses that end up going to the Kimball Farms kitchen staff or something. I'll check tomorrow and see how she's doing and then maybe go lever WITH flowers.
So we crossed off lunch in Lenox and I threw Peg in the car and headed instead up to Williamstown to see another friend of hers, Louise, who runs a Japanese-style B & B (Berkshires-shirakaba.com) at $375 a night. Lovely, but the path to the house is all gravel and rustic uneven flagstones, perfect for Peg and her walker, then some steps, then a million more steps. We didn't stay long. Peg kept obsessing about guests having to eat cross-legged on the floor. [TORY, SUBARU OWNER, DON'T READ THIS NEXT PART]: Trying to get as near to the steps as possible with the car so Peg didn't have to walk so far, I came this close, I swear, to backing lickety split into a stone wall with a Buddha on it, in my borrowed Subaru. One eighth of an inch to spare, seriously. Buddha loves me.
Next stop: Berkshire Bank ("America's Most Exciting Bank"), Allendale Branch, to get HH Savings Bonds which have matured and are now ready to send to the Treasury Department, which for some reason is in Minneapolis, not DC--signed, for redemption. And to do this--I am an old hand by now--you need to go to your branch's manager and she witnesses your signature and stamps the claims form with a special bank certificate stamp and you go home and mail it all to Minnesota. I have done this at least a dozen times in the past five years. So today I had a bunch to send, in my name, and Peg had a bunch in hers. They all normally reside, quietly maturing, in the Safety Deposit Box and when I get a letter saying one or more are ready (twenty years after they were puchased), I go get them. As I did last week. And yesterday took an hour or so to fill out the forms. And all that remained was to get them officially stamped. And as I had Peg out and about, the Bank was on the list.
At Allendale, however, it turns out that Tricia is no longer bank manager, she is now running the Great Barrington branch (far). No one had as yet been hired to replace her and Denise, sadly, being only an Assistant Manager, and in fact from North Adams branch and only there for the day, had no authority or indeed an official stamp. She rang the Elm Street branch. Diane, the manager, was out to lunch but would be there after two, with her stamp.
Peg and I killed time with small cheeseburgers and fries at Five Guys next to Stop and Shop.
The Elm Street branch of Berkshire Bank ("America's Most Exciting Bank"), was heaving. Four people sat in the chairs where you wait to see a bank officer. We waited. We waited some more. Through the glass walls, I could see Diane the bank manager in deep conversation with someone she'd hugged as he'd walked in. Was she setting up mortgage or a date? We waited thirty minutes. Peg nodded off. I asked an Assistant Manager if he could help. No, he was an assistant, he explained, and had no stamp. I got Peg up and out and back down the ramp with] her walker and into the car and off we went to the Williams Street branch, Berkshire Bank getting, I'm afraid to say, less exciting by the second.
At the Williams Street branch I left Peg in the car and went in, where I was the only customer. They looked happy to see me. I asked why Berkshire Bank was America's most exciting bank. They smiled but couldn't answer. I asked if there was a bank manager with a stamp there by any chance, and a short, stout, dour, older woman with short hair breezed by and said she was a manager and yes she had a stamp but I would have to wait while she attended to an important wire transaction. I went out to the car and woke Peg, got her out and wheeled in. We waited. I picked up Real Simple magazine. Peg, "The Little Match Girl", a children's book. Eventually we were ushered into an office.
The manager, named Margaret, called Peg "Margaret" and appeared to know her and the signing of Peg's HH bonds went smoothly. Margaret Manager then asked me for an ID. I gave her my Massachusetts license, my UK license, and my Berkshire Bank ("America's Most Exciting Bank") debit card. She queried why on the bonds, my name was one thing but the funds were to go into an account with another name. I said it was my married name, that the Treasury Depot and I were old friends, they knew who I was, I had been doing this for years. She asked if I had documentation showing I had changed my name. I said no, I didn't have my marriage license with me. She refused to stamp my form. She told me my mother's verification of my identity was no good.
She also told me it would cost $10 each to stamp the form. I told her I had never in my life paid for a stamp over at Allendale, I had been a customer at Berkshire Bank ("America's Most Irritating Bank"), since 1970, my parents since 1951, and--and--and that my father had just passed away and, fuck me. The tears just poured out. I couldn't stop.
They cut no ice, however, with Margaret the Bank Manager. I grabbed my stuff, and Peg, and in doing so my wallet dropped and out fell the business card belonging to Tricia, former manager of the Allendale branch but now at Great Barrington. (Why would she move without telling me???)
"Here!" I slapped the card on Margaret's desk. "Call Tricia! OK?? She knows me! She'll verify who I am! That I am not some some stupid imposter from fuck knows Indiana trying to steal bonds! Christ!" (I didn't really say "fuck knows". I don't think. Wait. Maybe I did.)
So Margaret called Tricia but she only got as far as "I have a Margaret Ronning here with some HH bonds and a woman who says she's her---" before Tricia The Intelligent set her straight.
And that was that. I got stamped. And got in the car and was halfway across Washington Mountain before I remembered (no, not Peg, put her in first) that I hadn't paid the stupid $20 for the stupid stamps.
Then again couldn't stop, tears crept down my face all the way home. You just try to do stuff, you know? And cross it off the list, even though the list gets bigger overnight and when no one's looking and I will never get to the end of it, never--and I want, I just want, expect, people to do their jobs and do them competently. That's all. That is not setting my sights high.
Then, then, we get home and there's a package in the post, a "book", and I use the term loosely, it's a (badly) typewritten manuscript from a Mel Simon, so-called fan of Peg's, asking her to write the "foreword" (sic) for this, his third book (think booklet) on Old Time Radio Trivia--in which, curiously, she or her show is not mentioned, thank you, nor was she in his earlier two books. He also says that in case she doesn't "know what to write" (when has Peg never known what to write, she's a fucking writer) he has included a "foreward" already written by his friend Shelly Strickler which he can put in, in Peg's name.
What a complete utter waste-of-time wanker is this guy, and I in fact formed that conclusion when I had occasion to speak to him on another matter regarding Peg a few years ago. Anyhow I wrote to him on her behalf, with her permission. You can imagine the content.
The good news though is,= Peg wore underpants today. It seems she has been going without since her return here in May.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
BEAUTY DAY
Well, for some. Took Peg to Hair Fashions by Tina for a lovely wash and blow dry, as opposed to the old lady tight curls look she normally favors. Looks great. Then to Guido's to buy a thank-you plant for the girls at the re-hab clinic at Laurel Lake Nursing Home, who were delighted by the unexpected visit, and gift, and card (all Peg's idea). They also want any books Peg's disposing of for their library, which pleased me, because it means Peg will dispose of them now and stop hoarding. I checked with Accounts there too to make sure all the paperwork had indeed gone off to Genworth, and they said yes, twice they've Faxed it now, even though Genworth is saying no, they haven't. I hate this kind of back and forth, like trying to sort out a fight on the playground.
From Laurel Lake we hit Lucky Nails in Lee, Korean nail bar, and Peg got the second manicure she's ever had. Was fascinated. Nails now filed and a lovely shade of peach. I waited, no book, no magazine, listening to an elderly woman from Florida but here in the Berkshires for the summer, who wouldn't shut up. New York accent. Strident voice. Piercing. "Hey! I've schmeered a nail. Look. See? I've schmeered this. Someone? Who can help me here? See how it's schemeered?" Loud enough to be heard in Miami but Peg didn't notice her, busy getting all the Korean girls' names and addresses and inviting them for Thanksgiving.
From Lucky Nails we went next door to the Starving Artist Cafe, me for a coffee and granola bar, Peg for not very good onion soup and a strawberry crepe, both of which she said tasted the same, so all in all not a hugely successful stop.
But what I have learned from this is that she needs to get out more. This place has been a cocoon for 45 years, the caterpillar needs to get her wings! And I will take her while I am here! Because I am a wonderful caring daughter! (As long as she stays nice to me.)
_________________
STAFF ON CALL: Outside Bob, who hauled earlier-marked- out crap from the garage, basement, attic, and dog pen onto his trailer and thence to the Becket Town Dump (sticker required: $40, though elderly can get one for $20). After which he returned and we re-loaded the trailer with earlier- marked-out stuff for his tag sale. I worry I might have priced things too high. I guess we'll find out. This is Becket, not Walberswick. Maybe there is indeed someone who wants an old 20 Cup coffee urn for $5.00. Or two folding suitcase holders for a guest room for $3.00. Or a dictionary in Norwegian for 50¢ (a steal).
Just as he was pulling out to take it all to his place, Peg caught sight of it and said "Hey! Are those all MY things? I LOVE that chair!" I lied and said the rattan seat was ripped.
Will I go to hell do you think?
Monday, August 11, 2014
PROGRESS IN SOME AREAS
Weeding, for instance. And chopping and cutting and clearing ten years worth of plant growth outside. The place is looking not unlike Grey Gardens, that overgrown house in Long Island owned by crazy cousins of Jackie O's. Outside Bob wasn't here when this place was in its prime, when Odd had the place manicured. Now it's machete time. I suppose there's no pressing reason to clear it at all except I can't stand seeing it this way. I want it to look the way Daddy planned it. I do it for him.
_______________
Progress also on the Pill Front. Peg has finally agreed she needs Bonnie's help sorting her meds into individual daily doses in those blue plastic pill boxes, like Bonnie did for Odd. This decision was after Peg this morning turned on the tap inadvertently INTO her plastic pill bin, drenching the INFO LIST and the PILL DIAGRAMS--Bonnie has had to write it all out for her, what she takes when, what shape the Norvasc is as opposed to the Digoxin or the Amaryl or Alpurinol or. Peg takes 16 pills a day. Correction: she is supposed to take 16 pulls a day, but by the time she has them all out on the counter like some science experiment and next thing is three are on the floor or in the garbage or sink or back in the wrong bottle, who knows what the hell she's taking, or when.
I watched all this going on today and finally and to take over. What's astounding is that A) she let me; and B) for Peg's entire life, at least for as long as I've been aware of it, she has made a HUGE DEAL, and I mean huge, about taking pills, claming she has a small throat and chokes, the result being she wouldn't take any pill, even a minute one, without peaches and cottage cheese, tapioca pudding, applesauce--anything to make it go down more easily and it was such a (boring) production number and she made such a meal of it that by the time she finally got the morning pills down it was time to deal with the afternoon ones.
So now, today, this morning, once I'd got the pills all meted out in a little dish and was about to move into canned peaches mode, I see her tip them all into her mouth at once, swig a little water and--down the hatch! Well! I am stunned. I mentioned this. She said she has no problem with pills at all.
________________
STAFF ON CALL: Outside Bob, who besides clearing the forest is helping get piles of stuff in the drive ready for The Dump, tomorrow's excitement, and another pile (which we are keeping hidden for now on the porch so Peg doesn't haul stuff back in) for the Tag Sale in Hinsdale that Bob is having in 10 days time and says I can horn in on. I am looking forward to it. How sad is this.
I have given Bonnie a much-deserved week off. Terri is in Alabama seeing her son. Dominick is I/m not sure where, New York I think. Going to see if he, being Italian, wants the electric Pizzelle-making iron I found in the larder.
_______________
8 GUNSHOTS YESTERDAY as we had lunch. Had seen the Boundary Guy's car up near all the pink ribbons earlier, so wondered if maybe he'd shot his surveyor or encountered a bear. Got into the car to investigate and found an elderly guy (younger than me no doubt) on Leland Road, also concerned. He said the shots had come from the house next door but there was a police car in the drive so he assumed all was OK. I came home and called the Fire Department about this because well, what if a policeman had been shot, and because I couldn't find the Police local number, and was told oh yeah, Leland, all OK down there, no worries, no one hurt, only "disposing of an animal". I then lay awake wondering what kind of animal takes eight shots to dispose of or was it just that the guy was a terrible shot. The General Store was robbed last night, Outside Bob told me, plus a couple of "breaking and entering" not far away. I am now creeped out and won't let him tell Peg. Who I am again feeling kindly disposed towards, despite having to watch The Top Ten Worst Tornadoes with her on the Weather Channel, all of which showed the usual devastating images of flattened houses and all looked the same. My main mission tomorrow is to track down the person who wrote the intensely irritating tune the Weather Channel plays when they show you the weather across the States, which they do about every ten minutes--and kill the fucker.
_______________
Progress also on the Pill Front. Peg has finally agreed she needs Bonnie's help sorting her meds into individual daily doses in those blue plastic pill boxes, like Bonnie did for Odd. This decision was after Peg this morning turned on the tap inadvertently INTO her plastic pill bin, drenching the INFO LIST and the PILL DIAGRAMS--Bonnie has had to write it all out for her, what she takes when, what shape the Norvasc is as opposed to the Digoxin or the Amaryl or Alpurinol or. Peg takes 16 pills a day. Correction: she is supposed to take 16 pulls a day, but by the time she has them all out on the counter like some science experiment and next thing is three are on the floor or in the garbage or sink or back in the wrong bottle, who knows what the hell she's taking, or when.
I watched all this going on today and finally and to take over. What's astounding is that A) she let me; and B) for Peg's entire life, at least for as long as I've been aware of it, she has made a HUGE DEAL, and I mean huge, about taking pills, claming she has a small throat and chokes, the result being she wouldn't take any pill, even a minute one, without peaches and cottage cheese, tapioca pudding, applesauce--anything to make it go down more easily and it was such a (boring) production number and she made such a meal of it that by the time she finally got the morning pills down it was time to deal with the afternoon ones.
So now, today, this morning, once I'd got the pills all meted out in a little dish and was about to move into canned peaches mode, I see her tip them all into her mouth at once, swig a little water and--down the hatch! Well! I am stunned. I mentioned this. She said she has no problem with pills at all.
________________
STAFF ON CALL: Outside Bob, who besides clearing the forest is helping get piles of stuff in the drive ready for The Dump, tomorrow's excitement, and another pile (which we are keeping hidden for now on the porch so Peg doesn't haul stuff back in) for the Tag Sale in Hinsdale that Bob is having in 10 days time and says I can horn in on. I am looking forward to it. How sad is this.
I have given Bonnie a much-deserved week off. Terri is in Alabama seeing her son. Dominick is I/m not sure where, New York I think. Going to see if he, being Italian, wants the electric Pizzelle-making iron I found in the larder.
_______________
8 GUNSHOTS YESTERDAY as we had lunch. Had seen the Boundary Guy's car up near all the pink ribbons earlier, so wondered if maybe he'd shot his surveyor or encountered a bear. Got into the car to investigate and found an elderly guy (younger than me no doubt) on Leland Road, also concerned. He said the shots had come from the house next door but there was a police car in the drive so he assumed all was OK. I came home and called the Fire Department about this because well, what if a policeman had been shot, and because I couldn't find the Police local number, and was told oh yeah, Leland, all OK down there, no worries, no one hurt, only "disposing of an animal". I then lay awake wondering what kind of animal takes eight shots to dispose of or was it just that the guy was a terrible shot. The General Store was robbed last night, Outside Bob told me, plus a couple of "breaking and entering" not far away. I am now creeped out and won't let him tell Peg. Who I am again feeling kindly disposed towards, despite having to watch The Top Ten Worst Tornadoes with her on the Weather Channel, all of which showed the usual devastating images of flattened houses and all looked the same. My main mission tomorrow is to track down the person who wrote the intensely irritating tune the Weather Channel plays when they show you the weather across the States, which they do about every ten minutes--and kill the fucker.
Saturday, August 9, 2014
GUILTY!
Peg got a condolence card from some relative in the Midwest with the usual sentiments including that "Odd is happy now and has gone to a better place".
Really? How does Sharon know this? Better, how? In what way? What exactly is it that makes it better than Becket, Massachusetts, where Odd was in fact deleriously happy (until he became just delerious period, at the end), does it have pine trees and rhododendrons? Central heating? 'Revelation' brand pipe tobacco? Marinated herring? It doesn't have his Peggy (yet) that's for sure, so it can't be THAT much better or in fact any place he'd want to be for one second, Sharon, just so you know, unless my mother were there too, and she doesn't appear to be remotely ready.
I, on the other hand am at the door, car keys in hand, just give me directions, because I would rather be any place than here, right now, I swear, because the past 24 hours have not been particularly easy, because a phone conversation I had with my friend Annie last night, in which along with the usual Becket Moans I told her how, tee hee, when Peg's back is turned I throw out letters she'll never answer, including a huge wodge of ones she gets from some fan three times a week (we're having to devote an entire bookcase now to his stuff) and after the call Peg materialized next to me in the office, steaming, saying she'd heard every single word over her the extension next to her bed which apparently was marginally off the hook, marginally enough to land me in deepest water and it's safe to day I feel pretty badly about this and am still racking my brains trying to recall what else I may have said that a mother should never hear. Jesus. What a shitheel. Me, not her. She who is getting so deaf but won't admit it, you have to repeat everything 12 times, and now here's the one conversation you'd prefer her not to hear first time round, not to mention at all, and it's registered clear as a bell.
A two maybe three hour row followed. Which I will detail another time--my "sister" Jennifer just arrived for the night--but culminating in Peg picking up David Sedaris' "Santaland Diaries" (my recommendation) and me stomping off upstairs to bed, but not before texting Annie to say "She's loopy and tonight I fucking HATE her ".
Nice. What a nice daughter.
Really? How does Sharon know this? Better, how? In what way? What exactly is it that makes it better than Becket, Massachusetts, where Odd was in fact deleriously happy (until he became just delerious period, at the end), does it have pine trees and rhododendrons? Central heating? 'Revelation' brand pipe tobacco? Marinated herring? It doesn't have his Peggy (yet) that's for sure, so it can't be THAT much better or in fact any place he'd want to be for one second, Sharon, just so you know, unless my mother were there too, and she doesn't appear to be remotely ready.
I, on the other hand am at the door, car keys in hand, just give me directions, because I would rather be any place than here, right now, I swear, because the past 24 hours have not been particularly easy, because a phone conversation I had with my friend Annie last night, in which along with the usual Becket Moans I told her how, tee hee, when Peg's back is turned I throw out letters she'll never answer, including a huge wodge of ones she gets from some fan three times a week (we're having to devote an entire bookcase now to his stuff) and after the call Peg materialized next to me in the office, steaming, saying she'd heard every single word over her the extension next to her bed which apparently was marginally off the hook, marginally enough to land me in deepest water and it's safe to day I feel pretty badly about this and am still racking my brains trying to recall what else I may have said that a mother should never hear. Jesus. What a shitheel. Me, not her. She who is getting so deaf but won't admit it, you have to repeat everything 12 times, and now here's the one conversation you'd prefer her not to hear first time round, not to mention at all, and it's registered clear as a bell.
A two maybe three hour row followed. Which I will detail another time--my "sister" Jennifer just arrived for the night--but culminating in Peg picking up David Sedaris' "Santaland Diaries" (my recommendation) and me stomping off upstairs to bed, but not before texting Annie to say "She's loopy and tonight I fucking HATE her ".
Nice. What a nice daughter.
Friday, August 8, 2014
PAPERWORK
Mountains of it. Odd's Social Security. Odd's work pension (Beloit Corp), Odd's Norwegian pension, Odd's Papermachinery engineering death benefit, Prudential Life Insurance forms, which have three teeny tiny stocks attached, Verizon, Vodophone and Comcast, which I have been advised to sell, for the grand sun of about two cents, but to do this we have to go through Probate and list me as executor and open an Odd Ronning estate bank account and--all because of these stupid three mini stocks. Otherwise the estate could just carry on as normal since we cleverly divided it (we meaning Virginia the Elder Services lawyer) ten years ago into Peg and Odd separate trusts thus avoiding Mass State inheritance tax. Not that I'll have any now, it's just a pain, because the whole day has now revolved around these stocks which will net us, oh, $1000 if we're lucky.
On top of which no sign of Peg and Odd's state marriage license, only the church one, which is no good as far as stupid Verizon, Vodaphone and Comcast go, apparently, so now have to write, as Peg, to Manhattan City Clerk and get two copies ($25) but can't pay by credit card, have to truck to Post Office for Postal Money Order.
Also cancelled Odd's Mutual of Omaha Travel Accident Policy (and will get reimbursed $43). And have found Odd's original Prudential Life Insurance policy, sitting tidily in the safe deposit box at Berkshire Bank and have now copied the beneficiary pages with Peg's name on it and will send them off to Prudential because they don't seem to be organized enough to hang onto that record themselves.
And when I get the Marriage Certficate will send that off to Odd's Norway pension people along with the 7 pages of filled out forms, which I'm sure I've done all wrong, and anyhow is a waste of time because I am fairly sure she will not get any spouse benefits because she's never lived in Norway and doesn't have a Norway ID number, not that I found one for my father either but I guess he must have one.
Oppenheimer Fund, Dreyfuss Fund, and two others remain a mystery as to do we still have them or did we sell them, no dividend checks have come in in four years but this could be because Odd merged it with fuck knows and--today is not a good day for me. Would much rather work on Peg's website with Cousin Tim as I did all yesterday. Fewer form-filling involved. Am now finding myself thinking Peg? Please don't die too soon because the paperwork will kill me.
Am now off to the end of the driveway to meet this Michael Sanders the guy who's instigated this boundary issue to find out if I think he's a sleaze or on the level, and truck through the woods with him pretending I know what I'm talking about. And then come home infested with ticks and get Lyme Disease.
On top of which no sign of Peg and Odd's state marriage license, only the church one, which is no good as far as stupid Verizon, Vodaphone and Comcast go, apparently, so now have to write, as Peg, to Manhattan City Clerk and get two copies ($25) but can't pay by credit card, have to truck to Post Office for Postal Money Order.
Also cancelled Odd's Mutual of Omaha Travel Accident Policy (and will get reimbursed $43). And have found Odd's original Prudential Life Insurance policy, sitting tidily in the safe deposit box at Berkshire Bank and have now copied the beneficiary pages with Peg's name on it and will send them off to Prudential because they don't seem to be organized enough to hang onto that record themselves.
And when I get the Marriage Certficate will send that off to Odd's Norway pension people along with the 7 pages of filled out forms, which I'm sure I've done all wrong, and anyhow is a waste of time because I am fairly sure she will not get any spouse benefits because she's never lived in Norway and doesn't have a Norway ID number, not that I found one for my father either but I guess he must have one.
Oppenheimer Fund, Dreyfuss Fund, and two others remain a mystery as to do we still have them or did we sell them, no dividend checks have come in in four years but this could be because Odd merged it with fuck knows and--today is not a good day for me. Would much rather work on Peg's website with Cousin Tim as I did all yesterday. Fewer form-filling involved. Am now finding myself thinking Peg? Please don't die too soon because the paperwork will kill me.
Am now off to the end of the driveway to meet this Michael Sanders the guy who's instigated this boundary issue to find out if I think he's a sleaze or on the level, and truck through the woods with him pretending I know what I'm talking about. And then come home infested with ticks and get Lyme Disease.
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
WET TUESDAY
But only of course for those outdoors having a picnic tonight on the lawn at Tanglewood in Lenox while waiting for the Boston Symphony Orchestra to strike up. My Big Night Out. Accompanied by Tory (She Who Loans Me Cars) and the delightful Solloway clan from Walberswick, overnighting in Stockbridge en route to Lake Placid from Nantucket. Skies darkened at 7:10, we took cover ten minutes later when the thunder and lightning began, crowding into the back aisle of the open sided Koussivitsky Music Shed (I use the term shed loosely, it's a concert hall that seats about 5,000) but got soaked from the splashes. I have never seen rain like this. Stood for 3 hours thinking this little "mountain storm" would pass. Nope. Relentless. Left at the interval. No umbrellas, no rain slickers. Hair looked nice. Drove home to find Bonnie still here (10:45) even though I had asked her to stay only until 8:00. I think she was scared to leave Peg on her own.
Not me.
_____________
STAFF ON CALL TODAY: Bonnie and Outside Bob, who pissed Peg off by opening a can of tuna from the pantry for lunch when there was salami in the fridge.
_____________
Took Peg to Tina the Hairdressers and while she was being washed and blow dried (have finally talked her out of the tight curled old lady look she favours) I raced across town to Price Chopper, Rite Aid to pick up Peg's Neurontin, which I now see we have tons of so don't know who ordered more or indeed know what this medication is precisely for (or care), got gas, then got Peg back into the car, and then Tina, who wanted to point out to Peg some house near hers in Pittsfield for sale that has an "inlaw annex".
There would seem to be a general assumption that now that Daddy is gone, Peg will be moving. Got a letter from an Ann Spadafora today, a local realtor. Sniffing round seeing if I'm putting the house on the market. I probably should have the place valued at some point. I guess. I don't know. I'm so tired of dealing with the house and all it contains I feel like selling it as is, tomorrow, complete with furniture, appliances, 10,000 comedy scripts, and a ninety-seven year old nodding off at the butcher block. The thing is, Peg probably wouldn't mind, she makes friends so easily. Plus I'd leave catheter bag instructions and where to find the Fixodent. And maybe a pencil so they could help fill out that eight page Norwegian Pension Spouse Form that took up most of the afternoon to decipher even though I know she'll never get a kroner from them because she doesn't live there and never worked there and Daddy was a US citizen and so why bother---but you never know, do you, and every little cent helps. All I need to do now is to persuade Peg to stop buying 3 rotisserie chickens every week to leave rotting in the fridge and we'd be away to the races.
Not me.
_____________
STAFF ON CALL TODAY: Bonnie and Outside Bob, who pissed Peg off by opening a can of tuna from the pantry for lunch when there was salami in the fridge.
_____________
Took Peg to Tina the Hairdressers and while she was being washed and blow dried (have finally talked her out of the tight curled old lady look she favours) I raced across town to Price Chopper, Rite Aid to pick up Peg's Neurontin, which I now see we have tons of so don't know who ordered more or indeed know what this medication is precisely for (or care), got gas, then got Peg back into the car, and then Tina, who wanted to point out to Peg some house near hers in Pittsfield for sale that has an "inlaw annex".
There would seem to be a general assumption that now that Daddy is gone, Peg will be moving. Got a letter from an Ann Spadafora today, a local realtor. Sniffing round seeing if I'm putting the house on the market. I probably should have the place valued at some point. I guess. I don't know. I'm so tired of dealing with the house and all it contains I feel like selling it as is, tomorrow, complete with furniture, appliances, 10,000 comedy scripts, and a ninety-seven year old nodding off at the butcher block. The thing is, Peg probably wouldn't mind, she makes friends so easily. Plus I'd leave catheter bag instructions and where to find the Fixodent. And maybe a pencil so they could help fill out that eight page Norwegian Pension Spouse Form that took up most of the afternoon to decipher even though I know she'll never get a kroner from them because she doesn't live there and never worked there and Daddy was a US citizen and so why bother---but you never know, do you, and every little cent helps. All I need to do now is to persuade Peg to stop buying 3 rotisserie chickens every week to leave rotting in the fridge and we'd be away to the races.
Sunday, August 3, 2014
CHIPPING AWAY
...at oh, you name it. Odd's old bedroom upstairs, into which all his recent bedding had been dumped, blankets, clothes he'd worn over the past year or so. Had to go through it. Kind of a lump in my throat the whole time. A large bag went to Laurel Lake Nursing Home, they always seem to be short on sweatshirt type clothes, I remember one time nothing that came back from the laundry there was Daddy's and they had him dressed in some old green homeless-person type tattered trousers which looked like the last wearer had had a not particularly successful set-to with a grizzly. Another bag will go to Goodwill. Bonnie took a polo shirt for her husband's ex business partner that had SYRACUSE on the breast pocket, Odd's old alma mater. Never worn. A gift from me ten years ago. And finally, a shopping bag full of assorted desk items went down to the secondhand store at the bottom of the road here. I got $20 from the guy.
Which I immediately used to buy two bottles of the Becket General Store's Best, some not very nice Yellow Tail Sauvignon Blanc, which, having tasted, have relegated to the back of the fridge. This would be the new fridge Peg has bought, currently sitting on the screened-in porch. And this would also be after mopping up major spillage from some extremely sweet rose wine which tasted like strawberry soda that yesterday's houseguests brought, opened, and then didn't screw the top on very well. The guests who I'd thought were arriving at dinner time but who walked in the door at 10:00 AM.
_________________
Have also culled no-longer-essential (unless of course you are Peg) coffee table books on gardening, plants, Egypt, Norway From Above (aerial views), and a volume devoted to Supertankers which, the stamp inside says, seems to have been withdrawn form the Baldwin Public Library, wherever that is. Anyhow Peg took that one back, along with one of the Oseberg Viking Ship finds.
_________________
LATEST MOTHER- DAUGHTER DISCUSSION:
Lamb Ribs as opposed to Lamb Chops. In the freezer in the bar fridge--as opposed to the new kitchen fridge, or the porch fridge, or the fridge upstairs in Daddy's old office--are two packets of what the labels say are $54.87 worth of "Lamb Spare Ribs" and which Peg keeps saying are lamb chops. Berkshire Organic, which has taken over where Burgner's Turkey Farm was, now has a meat counter apparently. Sometime before I arrived, Peg stopped there with Bonnie and asked for lamb chops. The man handed these plastic packets to her, which she accepted. MY point is that no one (in her right mind) who'd asked for lamb chops would have accepted these spareribs. And tonight, I also learn that when Bonnie buys Peg chops, she buys racks of lamb ($$$$) which Peg then slices. And I guess that's what Peg thought she was getting at Berkshire Organic. Racks of lamb. But they are not, they are spareribs. Which I don't know what the fuck to do with but I guess will sling on the barbecue at some point. Anyhow she's now walked out of the room after banging the counter.
Why did I bring it up? Why couldn't I just let it lie? No idea.
__________________
GOOD NEWS ON FRUIT FLY FRONT:
Had noticed an inundation, and promptly either fridged or Zip-locked everything fruit or veg-like sitting out on counters. Seemed to make no difference. Was convinced something lay dead under a counter but never occurred to me to look in the wine/liquor cupboard in the bar. Principally because there are only 3 bottles of wine in there, two of which are champagne Odd saved from my first wedding, in 1976. We'd moved all the hard stuff out to a cupboard in Peg's room long ago to stop Odd drinking it all--a cupboard which, today, Peg and I were cleaning and, Daddy no longer being here, it was decided to return the bottles of scotch, vodka, akvavit and so on back to their home on the shelf in the wine cupboard. When I opened it, my eyes were drawn to a Price Chopper bag, knotted, lying flat on the shelf--containing what, I couldn't tell, but it looked nasty, about the size of a T-bone steak, and was repulsively alive with fruit flies and crawly things. I yelled for a Zip-Lock, Bonnie came running, we dropped it in, zipped it, then tried to figure out what exactly we'd captured and it turned out to be three bananas. How they got there, we don't know, I might possibly have done it, last May, to keep Daddy from eating one every time he passed through the bar, because too many bananas a day, as we know, does not bode well for someone who doesn't always make it to the bathroom in time.
___________
Weeded the entire front of house area. Looks infinitely better, plus succeeded with zero ticks or mosquito bites. Except now I'm starting to itch, just typing those words.
Which I immediately used to buy two bottles of the Becket General Store's Best, some not very nice Yellow Tail Sauvignon Blanc, which, having tasted, have relegated to the back of the fridge. This would be the new fridge Peg has bought, currently sitting on the screened-in porch. And this would also be after mopping up major spillage from some extremely sweet rose wine which tasted like strawberry soda that yesterday's houseguests brought, opened, and then didn't screw the top on very well. The guests who I'd thought were arriving at dinner time but who walked in the door at 10:00 AM.
_________________
Have also culled no-longer-essential (unless of course you are Peg) coffee table books on gardening, plants, Egypt, Norway From Above (aerial views), and a volume devoted to Supertankers which, the stamp inside says, seems to have been withdrawn form the Baldwin Public Library, wherever that is. Anyhow Peg took that one back, along with one of the Oseberg Viking Ship finds.
_________________
LATEST MOTHER- DAUGHTER DISCUSSION:
Lamb Ribs as opposed to Lamb Chops. In the freezer in the bar fridge--as opposed to the new kitchen fridge, or the porch fridge, or the fridge upstairs in Daddy's old office--are two packets of what the labels say are $54.87 worth of "Lamb Spare Ribs" and which Peg keeps saying are lamb chops. Berkshire Organic, which has taken over where Burgner's Turkey Farm was, now has a meat counter apparently. Sometime before I arrived, Peg stopped there with Bonnie and asked for lamb chops. The man handed these plastic packets to her, which she accepted. MY point is that no one (in her right mind) who'd asked for lamb chops would have accepted these spareribs. And tonight, I also learn that when Bonnie buys Peg chops, she buys racks of lamb ($$$$) which Peg then slices. And I guess that's what Peg thought she was getting at Berkshire Organic. Racks of lamb. But they are not, they are spareribs. Which I don't know what the fuck to do with but I guess will sling on the barbecue at some point. Anyhow she's now walked out of the room after banging the counter.
Why did I bring it up? Why couldn't I just let it lie? No idea.
__________________
GOOD NEWS ON FRUIT FLY FRONT:
Had noticed an inundation, and promptly either fridged or Zip-locked everything fruit or veg-like sitting out on counters. Seemed to make no difference. Was convinced something lay dead under a counter but never occurred to me to look in the wine/liquor cupboard in the bar. Principally because there are only 3 bottles of wine in there, two of which are champagne Odd saved from my first wedding, in 1976. We'd moved all the hard stuff out to a cupboard in Peg's room long ago to stop Odd drinking it all--a cupboard which, today, Peg and I were cleaning and, Daddy no longer being here, it was decided to return the bottles of scotch, vodka, akvavit and so on back to their home on the shelf in the wine cupboard. When I opened it, my eyes were drawn to a Price Chopper bag, knotted, lying flat on the shelf--containing what, I couldn't tell, but it looked nasty, about the size of a T-bone steak, and was repulsively alive with fruit flies and crawly things. I yelled for a Zip-Lock, Bonnie came running, we dropped it in, zipped it, then tried to figure out what exactly we'd captured and it turned out to be three bananas. How they got there, we don't know, I might possibly have done it, last May, to keep Daddy from eating one every time he passed through the bar, because too many bananas a day, as we know, does not bode well for someone who doesn't always make it to the bathroom in time.
___________
Weeded the entire front of house area. Looks infinitely better, plus succeeded with zero ticks or mosquito bites. Except now I'm starting to itch, just typing those words.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
SURPRISES NEVER END
Woke Peg at 9 PM to see if she wanted any food (I had had popcorn and wine so was happy and full). Heated her some mushroom soup from Stew Leonard's (after pureeing it so no big unchewable chunks of mushrooms). Could not get the kitchen TV off of "NO SIGNAL" so asked if she'd perhaps like to hear a chapter of DK's autobiographical audio book, "Key Changes", while she ate (and complained about small chunks of mushrooms).
I knew we were onto dangerous ground but asked anyway. Dangerous because this is how Peg consistently listens to Denis' music:
"I want to hear your new show! Put it on! Put it on! I can't wait!"
We then put on the CD of DK's demo or latest musical or album, whatever, and Peg sits down, all ears, but within two bars she's up, in search of a Kleenex, a glass of ice water, her glasses, a pillow, a sweater, talking to the dog, going for a pee, and so on. While Den and I quietly (or sometimes not) seethe.
Anyhow, last night, she says "Yes! I'd love to hear it! Put it on!" as normal, so I get my laptop and find the tracks (unmastered as yet but good enough to listen to, certainly by someone who's going to be off looking for her Fixodent any minute) and we sat at the butcher bloc. I pressed PLAY and on came Chapter 1.
And then a miracle occurred. Peg stayed put. Listened. Reacted. Laughed when she was supposed to. Tittered. Tutted. Patted my arm in appreciation. Was completely engaged. Not only that, asked for more. And more. And still more. We sat there for three hours, listening to the entire first section. Not once did her attention falter. Afterwards she said how marvelous it was and how proud she was of me.
If I have ever, ever, and I do mean EVER said anything bad about my mother, I take it all back, it must have been merely a temporary mental aberration. Because I mean, God. What a remarkable woman she is, so wise, so astute, so--well. Perfect.
I knew we were onto dangerous ground but asked anyway. Dangerous because this is how Peg consistently listens to Denis' music:
"I want to hear your new show! Put it on! Put it on! I can't wait!"
We then put on the CD of DK's demo or latest musical or album, whatever, and Peg sits down, all ears, but within two bars she's up, in search of a Kleenex, a glass of ice water, her glasses, a pillow, a sweater, talking to the dog, going for a pee, and so on. While Den and I quietly (or sometimes not) seethe.
Anyhow, last night, she says "Yes! I'd love to hear it! Put it on!" as normal, so I get my laptop and find the tracks (unmastered as yet but good enough to listen to, certainly by someone who's going to be off looking for her Fixodent any minute) and we sat at the butcher bloc. I pressed PLAY and on came Chapter 1.
And then a miracle occurred. Peg stayed put. Listened. Reacted. Laughed when she was supposed to. Tittered. Tutted. Patted my arm in appreciation. Was completely engaged. Not only that, asked for more. And more. And still more. We sat there for three hours, listening to the entire first section. Not once did her attention falter. Afterwards she said how marvelous it was and how proud she was of me.
If I have ever, ever, and I do mean EVER said anything bad about my mother, I take it all back, it must have been merely a temporary mental aberration. Because I mean, God. What a remarkable woman she is, so wise, so astute, so--well. Perfect.
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