She's back on the case. Blue Book alert, danger danger, Dive! Dive! This you may or may not recall, is a project my mother invented roughly three years ago, the idea being to make up 8 x 10 (blue, as it happens) plastic scrapbooks/photo albums based on her life and career to send to about nine million lucky recipients. The project for which she tore apart her carefully compiled and preserved old radio and TV scrapbooks and thereby fucking them up totally. The project where she spent fortunes on photo paper, cartridge ink, photo sleeves, printers, you name it, singlehandedly keeping the Dalton, MA. Staples store in business. The project which covered every surface the house with piles upon piles of photocopies of Peculiar Items To Include In A Scrapbook About One's Life, such as a grainy photo of a fisher (like a mink) and the wedding photo of some guy in Japan who uses Peg's scripts to teach English, and Kate Smith doing the Charleston as a young fat 16 year old. The project which drove everyone crazy because Peg was acting like "getting these Blue Books out to everyone who wants one!" was more important than, say, getting her website up, my father to the dentist, or even dinner, but mostly drove everyone crazy because IT NEVER GOT FINISHED. Because Peg cannot organize and because Peg procrastinates. The Blue Book Project which went on hold when Peg was rushed to the ER last April and nearly died, the Blue Book Project which, as a gesture to "Peg's last wishes", friends Annie and Wendy and I kindly rolled up our sleeves and knocked ourselves out to FINISH, in two days, AND get a dozen of these precious books mailed off to the 12 most deserving recipients (two of whom have since died and am now trying to decide if its tacky to ask for these books back, because, you know, seems like a waste when we could simply change the dedication and post on to Numbers 13 nd 14, say--bummer, wasting pics of fishers when you don't have to).
In any event, Peg did not die, and though she seemed pleased at the time when we presented her in her hospital bed with a Completed Blue Book--we'd even done clever printed captions--my suspicion, which has now been proved correct, is that it pissed her off that WE had done HER project.
Anyhow, she's back at it, driving Terri and Bonnie and Outside Bob to distraction. And now me, having just seen online the $396 Staples order that went in yesterday. We cannot afford Blue Book-itis any more. $400 is what only just came in for her French fire screen at auction. $400 is a week's salary for Staff (well, one of them) and Peg's blowing it all on printer ink and manilla folders. Kill. Kill.
I really don't know the answer to this. I want her to have a project--wait. Do I? Maybe not. No, I don't. I take that back. I think what I want is for her to sit quietly and read and nap and get her hair done and do the nice interviews I set up for her and maybe answer the nine thousand letters she owes people if she's feeling up to it. And stop making life difficult for everyone.
On top of which, Bonnie reports that Peg, who has made a big song and dance about wanting to be "in charge of her own pills goddamit!", hasn't been taking them. Bonnie says she hasn't taken them in fact, for over a week now. This is 15 pills a day she's missing. High blood pressure, cholesterol, gout, bladder cramps, diabetes, psoriasis--you name it.
Am torn between making a fuss about all this or saying well, what can you do. Nothing. Certainly from 3,000 miles away. Except invent a Blue Book pill to be taken 3 times a day which any one of four people, I guarantee you, would gladly help ram down her throat.
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