THE HOUSE ON THE HILL

Peg still In rehab at the hospital. I rang yesterday. She answered. (I have cut down personal staff hours bedside call by 75%). She sounded perky. We talked for a bit. She asked who it was. I told her. She said she'd just had a coughing fit and "almost died". She told me this about 4 times.

She also said, and I quote: "I've decided I'm going to stay in the house for at least another year or so before I sell."

I asked how she was going to pay for it, she couldn't afford it, or to keep staff for that long. She said she was working something out.

Right.

Then didn't want to discuss it. 

So. What next. Due over in a few weeks. 

In a great mood.  

TWO DOWN

Yesterday's Medical News:

Terri's sister, who looks after their mother, has an aortic aneurysm but they won't operate because she's "too fat", so now the poor woman can be expected to die at any moment and the doctors say she is to have "no stress", meaning she can't look after their mother anymore (who has cancer and 2 new hips)--so Terri will have to go to New Jersey and do it. 

Terri is in tears, doesn't not want to let Peg down, or us, because she considers us family too. I assured  her she was not letting us down, that her priorities had to be with her mom and sister. And that Peg, at least while she's in hospital, is being well tended and does not need Terri (or Dominick or Bonnie for that matter) by her side every second. 

It'll all save Peg money, which is good news, but I feel so badly for Terri, she's had a much harder time in life than I have. Not counting having Peg for a mother.

Speaking of whom, I am now hoping that Peg's hip takes as long as possible to heal and they keep her in rehab for awhile. A month or two would be good. What a lovely daughter's prayer.

PINS AND NEEDLES

Well, was up until 3am Tuesday night face-timing with anaesthetists and doctors and Terri and listening to Peg in her cubicle in the ER, doped up on morphine, talking all about cousin Turid in Norway, who sadly is no longer with us, and hasn't been for some time, but was all Peg wanted to talk about, how Turid would come to England all the time to "see her boyfriends", which I strongly doubt, as Cousin Turid, a passionate nature lover, came over as far as I know to do walking tours in Scotland and the Lake District. Anyhow I could get no sense out of Peg whatsoever so stopped trying.

The doctors said Peg had two choices: an operation on her broken hip immediately, or spend the rest of her life immobile in bed in a lot of pain. The op, however, was "very risky", as she might not survive the anaesthesia, her heart was only functioning at 10%. They did not technically NEED my permission they said, because my mother was still "very rational" and capable of making her own decision (yeah right, as long as it was about Turid coming to England to see men), but I said fine, if it were up to me, I'd go for the op. 

So they operated. And put 3 pins in her hip. That was on Wednesday, day before yesterday. The day I had chosen to take my first break in months and escape to London to see girlfriends, which I did, but it was all punctuated by email updates from Bonnie or face-time calls from Terri and me leaping up from a table in a restaurant to go stand on the street in traffic noise to find out what was happening in Pittsfield. 

And what was happening in Pittsfield seemed to be Peg in a hospital bed surrounded by a stream of admirers (9 at one count) all laughing and joking and having a whee of a time. (An audience! Finally!)  In any event, she would appear to be suffering no pain and no side effects and in fact, and I quote, is "rather enjoying it all!"

In fact enjoying it all so much that my birthday, once again, escaped her notice. She can remember fans' birthdays, incidentally, and fans' daughters' or sons' or third cousins' by marriage birthdays, but not mine. I mentioned this to her once. 

"I always remember what's important to me!" Peg snapped back. Which pretty much says it all.

Never mind. Physio came yesterday, got her up and walking, and the plan is they will send her home next week.

My favourite part of all this are all the messages of congrats pouring into me re: Peg's survival, saying "This must be the best birthday present ever!"

CHANGE OF TACK

Today my mother rings me at about 5am her time. I'm at the Anchor with DK, having coffee on the terrace with musician friends. Peg is all friendly and loving--as if the past week of bile had never occurred. Looks forward to seeing me, loves me, and so on.

At 6pm tonight I got a call from Bonnie. Peg has fallen. Called out from her office, Bonnie found her on the floor, her walker and an office chair tipped over. Lost her balance, it seems. Bonnie freaked out seeing Peg had cut her face, just above the eye, blood everywhere. Then couldn't lift her. Could not reach anyone by phone to come help. Fortunately, just then, a man from radio whatever in Albany arrived to do an interview with Peg--but had to haul her up off the floor first. Last I heard, she had ice on her eye and on her hip and was yakking away. Bonnie a wreck. I had just about calmed her down when I heard a siren thing go off and she said oh God, Peg's pushed the Link to Life emergency thing on her wrist by mistake!--and hung up. 

I haven't called back. This is like the Twilight Zone.

FLASH UPDATE  (10pm):

Seems Peg has a broken hip. She has been admitted to Berkshire Medical Center. Doctors are trying to assess whether she is strong enough (heart etc) to withstand an op, which she apparently needs. (And if she's not? What then??)

OUTSIDE BOB BITES THE DUST

Well, Bob quit. I just had an email. Peg has been so foul to him he can't take it any longer. Four and a half years he's been there, a trusted, devoted employee, who has not only cut grass and fixed sump pumps but cleaned up my parents' shit, literally, for them. Peg lit into him on Friday, then again upon arrival this morning. He hadn't even got into the house yet before she started. So he handed her her Berkshire Eagle and said that's it, I quit.

And I don't blame him. I feel like quitting, myself.

The latest contretemps began on Friday, when Bob arrived. He is normally Mondays and Tuesdays, but Arlo Guthrie up the road needed him on Tuesdays it seems, so he asked if he could come Fridays, and Bonnie said yes. Although Dominick is there on Fridays, and two Peg-sitters are unnecessary. Bonnie figured Peg would object to having Bob there instead of Dominick and sure enough, this turned out to be the case, so it was decided (not by me) that they would BOTH be there, something that was on my list to address but hadn't got to it yet. 

In any event, the old I WANT TO GET INTO THE SAFETY DEPOSIT BOX GODDAMMIT (and fuck it all up or lose it) issue arose, yet again, and Peg asked Bob to go up to my room to see if he could find the key. He found the key, it was not hidden (as Peg suggested), it was where it's always been. The problem then, was that both Dominick and Bob, quite rightly, refused to take Peg into the bank. They know from experience that this results in chaos. Peg got mad, mostly at Bob, then called Trevor, gay Friday Night Brigade friend, who also made some excuse--so, she's steaming, and let fly at Bob with both barrels. Dominick calmed her, and Bob, and so Bob showed up for work today but then..

So now there is no handyman there to do butch stuff. This is not totally the end of the world, many a day Bob sat around with not  a lot to do, but still. We will now need a garbage remover person, lawn mower, strong guy to lift stuff, etc. People can be replaced. Mostly though I just feel so badly about how she behaves, I'm embarrassed, because she does this to everyone sooner or later. And I liked Bob. And he was good. And, oddly enough, he cared about Peg. How Bonnie has lasted this long, I don't know. And Terri is a saint. She acted as intermediary today on the phone, because you can be sure I rang after getting Bob's email.

According to my mother and today's lengthy phone conversation:

- I always blame her for everything; it's never my fault.
- She does not forget anything; she remembers everything, it's me who can't remember
- She never knew I sold her Great Books of The Western World on eBay, I did it behind her back, she had money, cash, secreted in all those books 
- I never had a tag sale last summer at Outside Bob's
- I never had her permission to put her shrimp dish in the tag sale
- It is because of me that she is in this financial mess
- I never included her when I was creating her website
- I know nothing about her or her house
- I do not treat people well
- She doesn't need me

Poor Terri. I was calm, in fact close to tears at one point, as I am now. Why doesn't she like me more? Why doesn't she trust me? Did she ever like me?

I asked about this. Mentioned all the nice things I do, things I do because I love her, things I sure as shit wouldn't drop everything to do if I didn't--her website, getting her archive preserved at U of Oregon, the birthday parties I give her, the teas, the gifts, the things I make for her, cook for her--I said please, please, I am coming over there this summer as soon as my committments here to my husband and son are over, and she and I, together, must solve these housing and financial problems, with no arguing, that we are both on the same side and to please please stop treating me so badly and so unkindly, that I have done nothing wrong. 

I really honest and truly do not know what I've done to make her so angry. I find it terribly, terribly upsetting.

Having said that, if she wants to fire Bob, let her spend all day Monday then without anyone there, let her see how much she likes being all alone with no one around, so she can do what she likes. If she chokes on her pills, well. So be it. 

(Why is she so mad at me???) 

NO GOOD NEWS

Peg is not eligible for Elder Services after all, as her income exceeds their requirement, would you believe, by $520 per month.

The lawyer has not replied to two emails, am scared to call to find out she's left the firm.

The only person who knows about the septic tank in Becket i.e. knows where the fucker is, has Alzheimers and is now in a home somewhere. Dave someone.

Peg asked where her glass shrimp dish is. I didn't know, "It probably went in the tag sale", I said. "What tag sale?" Peg says. "The one we had last summer, at Bob's. That you helped get stuff ready for," I said. Peg said this is the first she'd heard of the tag sale (after saying "Bob who?" and me saying "Bob who works for you!"). I was told "stop taking her things all the time!" and that she is not getting rid of anything, it's her stuff, and she will be taking it ALL with her when she moves. Oh, and she doesn't want a condo "with all those people around", she's sick of people, she wants to buy a trailer.

She is in perfect health, blood pressure and all vitals couldn't be better.

AND STILL SHE LIVES

Peg rang to tell me that "Floradora" was coming over at two o'clock yesterday (no mention of me hanging up on her and no communication for over a week).

ME: Who?
PEG: You know. The Floradora woman.
ME: Do you mean Ann Spadafora, the realtor?
PEG: Yes. Shall I get her to call you when she gets here?
ME: Mama, I set the whole thing up. She and I are in touch.
PEG: So I should't have her call you?
ME: No. To say what?
PEG: So you can tell her what to do.
ME: She knows what to do! She's there to look at the house! 

So then afterwards Bonnie, with Peg on the extension (her new thing, unfortunately) rang to say the real estate lady came, with someone named Gerry to look at foundations and other butch stuff, and they both had a zillion questions about insulation, septic systems, flooring, the slate on the roof, none of which Peg knew the answers to, nor did I, precisely, but at least recalled stuff my father had told me over the years or I had processed by osmosis. The septic system will cost about $35,000 to update. Good luck, there.

No value on the house as yet, because there are no comps, there is nothing similar for sale in the area, at all, or even in the area period, so I imagine the bank will see what's sold in the past year on that street and assess it accordingly, meaning whatever the $4 trailer from Walmart down the road sold for, right?

Re the 2 land parcels:  they valued them at $48, 000 and $54,000, which just about tallies with what property guy told me--put it on the market for more, but accept the above. We either include in house sale or hold off and sell separately--in the unlikely event anyone thesedays wants land to build on, land being very "low" thesedays (of course!). A house on the same road as these plots has been on the market for three years, the realtors cite "traffic noise" as the issue. This is a dirt road, we're talking, not quite I-95 or the M11, but seems the Kushi Insititute at the dead end, a macrobiotic centre for "well being" or some rubbish (the Japanese owners used to hang out at the Becket General Store for doughnuts and coffee..) generates a lot of trucks and "students". And God forbid students pass your house, who'd want any of these, yuk.

Berkshire Bank is totally unhelpful regarding loans or advice. They offer neither. 

I have an appointment to ring Elder Services of Berkshire County tomorrow at 10 their time.

Peg, meanwhile, is doing sweet F.A to get anything in the house sorted, not going through letters, not going through clothes, leaving it all to me. No changes there. An email just came in on her account from her friend Steve entitled "Here's the information you wanted about fleas", which I deleted, after reading about flea larvae from a Wikipedia entry he'd cut and pasted for Peg, for reasons that escape me. Am pretty sure however that if I find the place full of fleas when I arrive, I'm turning right around and heading back to Logan.

Am now waking up in the middle of the night being angry with my mother and fretting about what to do with everything in her house. It's bad enough when I do this in the daytime.