I'm trying to promote Peg and her shows and got it all set up with the Comic Relief Red Nose Day charity--which for the first time is bringing the USA under it's umbrella, so ideal for my purposes--and have created a Giving Page, transferred one of her old Kate Smith comedy sketches onto DVD and then into this machine, laid on new titles and the "Ethel and Albert" logo, and the only thing I need now is 15 seconds of film tops, of Peg, now, introducing it---and she is suddenly balking.
Because she doesn't get it. Even though I have explained this fifty times. Doesn't get why I want to "give away her shows for nothing". Doesn't get that the exposure for her would be fantastic. Doesn't get that Louise is coming down from Williamstown to shoot it (because I am not there to do it, and because if I ask Dawn, who lives closer, Peg will decide at the last minute that she doesn't like her and start bugging her about the Famous Collie Contract of yore, which Dawn incidentally helped create in good faith, and slam the door in her face). And she especially doesn't get why it would be in the spirit of the thing to wear a spongy red nose (2 going into the mail today, from here) while she says "Please give generously to Comic Relief".
[FYI, for more info: http://www.comicrelief.com/rednoseday]
So the next ten days, you can just tell, can't you, are going to revolve exclusively around TO WEAR OR NOT TO WEAR this red nose and will undoubtedly result in everyone getting pissed off and the whole shoot being cancelled. And or the bloody noses never arriving, having got lost in the mail.
Which again begs the question: why does one bother? One indeed wonders.
Monday, February 9, 2015
Friday, February 6, 2015
URINETOWN
I have reports from Bonnie of a recent issue concerning two of the turquoise plastic tumblers Peg likes and which usually live on the shelf opposite the dishwasher along with the other ones.
Seems Bonnie walked into the downstairs loo, smelled urine (stronger than usual, that is) and spotted two turquoise plastic tumblers on the windowsill, both with an inch or so of liquid in them. Took a whiff. Urine. No question. One glass had an "X" marked with masking tape on it, the other a sort of "T". Bonnie rand Terri, currently in Alabama moving her son into a new apartment, to ask if she knew what was going on. Terri said it was a Peg project of some sort, to ask Peg.
Peg, it seems, while observing her catheter bag, worried she was not producing enough urine, so decided to keep track. Using NOT the two plastic urinals sitting there in plain sight (leftovers from Odd), but took two blue plastic drinking glasses from the kitchen.
Bonnie, appalled, pulled on surgical gloves (which she uses for almost everything including taking meat off chicken thighs), emptied the urine into the loo and took the tumblers out to the laundry room where she proceeded to wash and bleach and disinifect nine hundred times then left to dry by the side of the sink.
Two days later she comes into work and stops dead, spying these two blue glasses--still marked with tape so she knows they're the same--on the drying rack next to the kitchen sink, indicating that Dominick, who was on call the day before, had washed them and set them there, no doubt having used the nice dish sponge they use for all the dishes--all of which was too much for Bonnie to bear, who then threw out the glasses and the sponge and scoured the sink and I think the whole kitchen and possibly county and is maybe wearing a protective jumpsuit with goggles as I write. (Hope she doesn't have a heart attack if she ever visits my house). I have to remind myself that while she may be over the top sometimes in matters of hygiene, the place always looks and smells immaculate and nothing's ever growing anything in the potato drawer or getting squishy in the fridge and Peg is still alive, having no opportunity anymore (as she did with a couple of previous housekeepers) to poison herself with stuff that should have been pitched but six months later Peg is still dipping into saying "It's pefectly FINE!", like taramasalata.
My mother, in any event, did not take kindly to her science experiments being interfered with. Not only that, at one point she claimed it was not urine in the glasses, it was "her liquid medicine" that she "always took at night", an admission which of course gave pause for thought (not to mention retching) until Bonnie finally figured out Peg was talking about coconut water, which her fan Steve suggested she take every night.
"But Peg, " Bonnie told her. "That was NOT coconut water in those glasses. Trust me."
So who knows. But heated words ensued, no surprises here, all of them Peg's, and once again, she told everyone to go home, that she didn't need anyone looking after her.
I rang yesterday evening when I got in from dinner. Peg was alone, had just awakened from a nap. Unsure of who was coming to stay that evening (join the club) and then giving me a hard time about depriving her of a dog and reiterating that she can't go anywhere (meaning England) until her legs get better. Which you know and I know ain't going to happen. And now if you'll excuse me, I need to go fill the kettle from the toilet.
Seems Bonnie walked into the downstairs loo, smelled urine (stronger than usual, that is) and spotted two turquoise plastic tumblers on the windowsill, both with an inch or so of liquid in them. Took a whiff. Urine. No question. One glass had an "X" marked with masking tape on it, the other a sort of "T". Bonnie rand Terri, currently in Alabama moving her son into a new apartment, to ask if she knew what was going on. Terri said it was a Peg project of some sort, to ask Peg.
Peg, it seems, while observing her catheter bag, worried she was not producing enough urine, so decided to keep track. Using NOT the two plastic urinals sitting there in plain sight (leftovers from Odd), but took two blue plastic drinking glasses from the kitchen.
Bonnie, appalled, pulled on surgical gloves (which she uses for almost everything including taking meat off chicken thighs), emptied the urine into the loo and took the tumblers out to the laundry room where she proceeded to wash and bleach and disinifect nine hundred times then left to dry by the side of the sink.
Two days later she comes into work and stops dead, spying these two blue glasses--still marked with tape so she knows they're the same--on the drying rack next to the kitchen sink, indicating that Dominick, who was on call the day before, had washed them and set them there, no doubt having used the nice dish sponge they use for all the dishes--all of which was too much for Bonnie to bear, who then threw out the glasses and the sponge and scoured the sink and I think the whole kitchen and possibly county and is maybe wearing a protective jumpsuit with goggles as I write. (Hope she doesn't have a heart attack if she ever visits my house). I have to remind myself that while she may be over the top sometimes in matters of hygiene, the place always looks and smells immaculate and nothing's ever growing anything in the potato drawer or getting squishy in the fridge and Peg is still alive, having no opportunity anymore (as she did with a couple of previous housekeepers) to poison herself with stuff that should have been pitched but six months later Peg is still dipping into saying "It's pefectly FINE!", like taramasalata.
My mother, in any event, did not take kindly to her science experiments being interfered with. Not only that, at one point she claimed it was not urine in the glasses, it was "her liquid medicine" that she "always took at night", an admission which of course gave pause for thought (not to mention retching) until Bonnie finally figured out Peg was talking about coconut water, which her fan Steve suggested she take every night.
"But Peg, " Bonnie told her. "That was NOT coconut water in those glasses. Trust me."
So who knows. But heated words ensued, no surprises here, all of them Peg's, and once again, she told everyone to go home, that she didn't need anyone looking after her.
I rang yesterday evening when I got in from dinner. Peg was alone, had just awakened from a nap. Unsure of who was coming to stay that evening (join the club) and then giving me a hard time about depriving her of a dog and reiterating that she can't go anywhere (meaning England) until her legs get better. Which you know and I know ain't going to happen. And now if you'll excuse me, I need to go fill the kettle from the toilet.
Monday, February 2, 2015
TIME MARCHES ON
Meaning, she is losing more strength in her legs and also arms now too. Bonnie has to help her both in and out of the car now. Her mind is becoming less clear. Well, hard to tell, granted, since it's tended to flit all over the place since I've known her but still. She panicks more now, obsesses even more over things that aren't really worth getting your knickers in a knot over. We've just had an entire day now devoted to:
"WHERE ARE ALL THE LETTERS I WORTE TO MY MOTHER???"
Meaning the letters she wrote, to her mother, in the 1940s and into the 50s, and which her mother saved, catalogued by date, in 8 black loose leaf notebooks. They're 99% typed so easy to read, and the notebooks live in two beige plastic open file folder carriers from Staples. I've read every letter. Each book averages about 80 letters so, that's a lot of letters. I would take them up to bed with me when I was there to read privately. It's good stuff, most of it. I will turn them into a book one day.
Anyhow, with that in mind, I hid the notebooks, thinking Peg wouldn't miss them. Wrong. No sooner was I back in the U.K. than she was on the phone, in a state, asking where they were. I told her. She found them. Fortuately they didn't LOOK hidden, just sitting on the lower shelf of a particle board bookcase in Command Central, with five LL Bean catalogues, a rawhide dog bone and a sweater over them. You know, looking like most every other area of the house.
My big worry was that Peg would come across a letter she didn't like or which embarrassed her and would rip it out and throw it away. Which has in fact happened. But. Aha. I am not slitting my wrists over this because, thinking ahead, as I did, I secretly scanned all eight notebooks last year, whenever she was out getting her hair done or napping or glued to the Weather Channel in the other room.
Yesterday's Peg Panic was not being able to find these notebooks, again. Notebooks which, last I saw, were on the bottom shelf of the right hand bookcase as you walked into her room (formerly the livingroom), so passed on this information. Four phone calls from Bonnie and three emails later, the notebooks were discovered, right there where I said they probably were, this time with only two LL Bean catalogues on top of them, plus a big ugly painted plywood doll in a bonnet someone gave her with some dumb saying on it's apron---the kind of stuff gift stores that stink of candles sell and which you always go into thinking goody! and are always disappointed to find that it's all tat. Anyhow my mother had apparently looped the string on this gingham girlie over a book on the shelf above and--presto, Instant Hidden Letters To Mother.
I'd even mentioned the doll in my directions, and, hurrah hurrah, four hours later, success could be reported from Becket, Mass.
I guess I need to go over there soon.
"WHERE ARE ALL THE LETTERS I WORTE TO MY MOTHER???"
Meaning the letters she wrote, to her mother, in the 1940s and into the 50s, and which her mother saved, catalogued by date, in 8 black loose leaf notebooks. They're 99% typed so easy to read, and the notebooks live in two beige plastic open file folder carriers from Staples. I've read every letter. Each book averages about 80 letters so, that's a lot of letters. I would take them up to bed with me when I was there to read privately. It's good stuff, most of it. I will turn them into a book one day.
Anyhow, with that in mind, I hid the notebooks, thinking Peg wouldn't miss them. Wrong. No sooner was I back in the U.K. than she was on the phone, in a state, asking where they were. I told her. She found them. Fortuately they didn't LOOK hidden, just sitting on the lower shelf of a particle board bookcase in Command Central, with five LL Bean catalogues, a rawhide dog bone and a sweater over them. You know, looking like most every other area of the house.
My big worry was that Peg would come across a letter she didn't like or which embarrassed her and would rip it out and throw it away. Which has in fact happened. But. Aha. I am not slitting my wrists over this because, thinking ahead, as I did, I secretly scanned all eight notebooks last year, whenever she was out getting her hair done or napping or glued to the Weather Channel in the other room.
Yesterday's Peg Panic was not being able to find these notebooks, again. Notebooks which, last I saw, were on the bottom shelf of the right hand bookcase as you walked into her room (formerly the livingroom), so passed on this information. Four phone calls from Bonnie and three emails later, the notebooks were discovered, right there where I said they probably were, this time with only two LL Bean catalogues on top of them, plus a big ugly painted plywood doll in a bonnet someone gave her with some dumb saying on it's apron---the kind of stuff gift stores that stink of candles sell and which you always go into thinking goody! and are always disappointed to find that it's all tat. Anyhow my mother had apparently looped the string on this gingham girlie over a book on the shelf above and--presto, Instant Hidden Letters To Mother.
I'd even mentioned the doll in my directions, and, hurrah hurrah, four hours later, success could be reported from Becket, Mass.
I guess I need to go over there soon.
Saturday, January 24, 2015
MIDNIGHT NEWS
Actually it was closer to 1:00 AM when I hear the vibrations from my cell phone on the dresser--and leap for it to quick take it into the bathroom and shut the door so I don't keep DK awake, because it can only be YOU KNOW WHO. And sure enough, it is.
"I've been trying to call you for six hours!"
"What's wrong?"
"You're phone doesn't work, I've been trying for SIX HOURS! Six!"
"My phone is fine, Mother, I've been using it all day. So what's wrong?"
"They've been here today outside, out by the road, fixing the lines--"
"Verizon. Yes, I knew that. Bonnie told me. Mama, it was YOUR phone most likely that didn't work. And do they all work now? And the internet?"
"What's your phone number--let me get a pencil--"
"It's the same one I always have, that you just called, that you call me on all the time! Mother if you need me you know can always ring the house phone, yes? Or Denis', or Alex's. You have all their numbers."
"I don't have any other numbers."
"Yes. You do. Who's there with you now? Dominick?" I can hear him in the background reading off phone numbers to her.
"Yes. Do you want to talk to him?"
"No! You called me! Anyhow what is it? What's wrong? Why'd you call? It's freezing in here."
"I couldn't reach you. I tried all day!"
"Well you have now and it's quarter to one in the morning and we were asleep so I will call you tomorrow if that's okay. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
"How's your mother?" Den says, from his side as I crawl back into bed.
"Same."
"I've been trying to call you for six hours!"
"What's wrong?"
"You're phone doesn't work, I've been trying for SIX HOURS! Six!"
"My phone is fine, Mother, I've been using it all day. So what's wrong?"
"They've been here today outside, out by the road, fixing the lines--"
"Verizon. Yes, I knew that. Bonnie told me. Mama, it was YOUR phone most likely that didn't work. And do they all work now? And the internet?"
"What's your phone number--let me get a pencil--"
"It's the same one I always have, that you just called, that you call me on all the time! Mother if you need me you know can always ring the house phone, yes? Or Denis', or Alex's. You have all their numbers."
"I don't have any other numbers."
"Yes. You do. Who's there with you now? Dominick?" I can hear him in the background reading off phone numbers to her.
"Yes. Do you want to talk to him?"
"No! You called me! Anyhow what is it? What's wrong? Why'd you call? It's freezing in here."
"I couldn't reach you. I tried all day!"
"Well you have now and it's quarter to one in the morning and we were asleep so I will call you tomorrow if that's okay. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
"How's your mother?" Den says, from his side as I crawl back into bed.
"Same."
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
HELP WANTED
So Terri's son, who is in Alabama getting his doctorate in physics but has anxiety issues, is ready to jump off a cliff because he ran out of meds and his apartment is infested with cockroaches and about twelve other things he can't deal with--so Terri has to go down there, after she gets her car fixed over in Springfield. Which means there is no one to do Peg overnights for two weeks.
Plus Terri says Peg wants Terri to leave Heidi, her 11 year old beagle there, which Terri doesn't want to do, because sometimes there are accidents, and there is no guarantee Peg will even remember to let Heidi out. Or back in.
I'm getting all this from Terri on the upstairs phone. And seems Dominick is over there today, Peg called him last night in a panic saying "WHERE ARE YOU??" so he had to suddenly drive over, late, and spend the night. This is after Peg assuring me that she is FINE, perfectly happy being alone the odd night or two, that I am not to worry about her...
I ask Terri to have Peg call me. She rings about 5 minutes later on my cell. Furious that Terri has spoken to me first, SHE likes to be the one with the news. So I have maybe landed Terri in it inadvertantly. I am sorry about that. Peg then handed the phone to Dominick. We discusssed the problem. He's going to see what nights he can do ($50 per night )and will call gay friends Trevor and also John to see if they can possibly stay over once or twice (free). This is where brothers and sisters would be handy.
Peg-Sitters still cheaper than me flying over there. Or so I tell myself. Besides which, I don't fancy flying until the bronchitis subsides, whenever that may be. But may have to.
I am rapidly tiring of the Peg Problem, however bad that sounds to say. Latest is she's going to live to 110, she says.
Hope she finds somewhere nice to live.
Plus Terri says Peg wants Terri to leave Heidi, her 11 year old beagle there, which Terri doesn't want to do, because sometimes there are accidents, and there is no guarantee Peg will even remember to let Heidi out. Or back in.
I'm getting all this from Terri on the upstairs phone. And seems Dominick is over there today, Peg called him last night in a panic saying "WHERE ARE YOU??" so he had to suddenly drive over, late, and spend the night. This is after Peg assuring me that she is FINE, perfectly happy being alone the odd night or two, that I am not to worry about her...
I ask Terri to have Peg call me. She rings about 5 minutes later on my cell. Furious that Terri has spoken to me first, SHE likes to be the one with the news. So I have maybe landed Terri in it inadvertantly. I am sorry about that. Peg then handed the phone to Dominick. We discusssed the problem. He's going to see what nights he can do ($50 per night )and will call gay friends Trevor and also John to see if they can possibly stay over once or twice (free). This is where brothers and sisters would be handy.
Peg-Sitters still cheaper than me flying over there. Or so I tell myself. Besides which, I don't fancy flying until the bronchitis subsides, whenever that may be. But may have to.
I am rapidly tiring of the Peg Problem, however bad that sounds to say. Latest is she's going to live to 110, she says.
Hope she finds somewhere nice to live.
Monday, January 19, 2015
SYNAPSES SHORTCIRCUITING
More so than usual, I fear. It's only bound to get worse, too. Conversations are becoming almost impossible since she jumps around so from one subject to another. I can follow, just about, being used to it by now, but when she tells a story (am basing this on when I was last over there) there's always a point I notice where listeners suddenly sit up and become uber-attentive, and you can see them desperately trying to concentrate, to make a connection, however tenuous, between, say, Peg's insistence that Walter, her producer, was "murdered" years ago by an anti-Jewish faction and his tapes made by Holocaust survivors "stolen"--and, oh, the subject of French toast at the Holiday Inn at Newark Airport, which has been segued into with no warning.
Take yesterday's phone call. Or, Why I Like To Be Around When Peg's Giving Interviews:
"Hi. It's me. Well, we watched two new movies. One about that man who can't talk or walk." [Peg's an Academy member, so gets sent all the Oscar nominations every year]
"'The Theory of Everything'. About Stephen Hawking. Did you like it?"
"Not bad. Sort of sad. And the other one, about the Enigma machine."
"The Imitation Game."
"Was it? Kind of silly. I used to listen to your father talk with Vivi and--what's his name?"
"Ditmar."
"Ditmar--all about the Enigma. About all the homosexuals."
"How would they know, they were in Norway."
"Oh, they talked about it all the time. In Norwegian of course, so I didn't understand ALL of it [NOTE: Peg speaks no Norwegian except perhaps 'Thank you for dinner'] but oh, they'd go on and on about it."
"Right. So-- when do the Kourys arrive? They're due today, right?"
"I wanted baked beans. Just felt like some, you know? Real ones, not just opening a can, so we made some but I don't think I cooked them long enough, they're hard as rocks."
"Really old ones will never soften. Were they old?"
"No, we just got them. Dominick was quite handsome when he was younger, you know, he showed me a photo. Very dark hair. Lots of it, and curly.
"Mother, did the Kourys arrive? And did Bonnie make up the beds?"
"They're bringing a leg of lamb."
"I know. You said."
"Vivi used to get quite heated about it all. They all did."
_______________________
Anyway the Kourys did not come, according to Bonnie, seems they started out from New Jersey at 6:00 AM but the roads were so lethal they had to turn back, then Paul slipped trying to get Jackie out of the car (she had a massive stroke at 40) and did something to his back--anyway it was decided to wait until the better weather arrives, whenever that may be. 2096.
Here's something weird. Every single time I sit down to do a post, almost without fail, all I have to do is type "Peg" or "Mother" and my phone rings. It's like she KNOWS. (God forbid)
Take yesterday's phone call. Or, Why I Like To Be Around When Peg's Giving Interviews:
"Hi. It's me. Well, we watched two new movies. One about that man who can't talk or walk." [Peg's an Academy member, so gets sent all the Oscar nominations every year]
"'The Theory of Everything'. About Stephen Hawking. Did you like it?"
"Not bad. Sort of sad. And the other one, about the Enigma machine."
"The Imitation Game."
"Was it? Kind of silly. I used to listen to your father talk with Vivi and--what's his name?"
"Ditmar."
"Ditmar--all about the Enigma. About all the homosexuals."
"How would they know, they were in Norway."
"Oh, they talked about it all the time. In Norwegian of course, so I didn't understand ALL of it [NOTE: Peg speaks no Norwegian except perhaps 'Thank you for dinner'] but oh, they'd go on and on about it."
"Right. So-- when do the Kourys arrive? They're due today, right?"
"I wanted baked beans. Just felt like some, you know? Real ones, not just opening a can, so we made some but I don't think I cooked them long enough, they're hard as rocks."
"Really old ones will never soften. Were they old?"
"No, we just got them. Dominick was quite handsome when he was younger, you know, he showed me a photo. Very dark hair. Lots of it, and curly.
"Mother, did the Kourys arrive? And did Bonnie make up the beds?"
"They're bringing a leg of lamb."
"I know. You said."
"Vivi used to get quite heated about it all. They all did."
_______________________
Anyway the Kourys did not come, according to Bonnie, seems they started out from New Jersey at 6:00 AM but the roads were so lethal they had to turn back, then Paul slipped trying to get Jackie out of the car (she had a massive stroke at 40) and did something to his back--anyway it was decided to wait until the better weather arrives, whenever that may be. 2096.
Here's something weird. Every single time I sit down to do a post, almost without fail, all I have to do is type "Peg" or "Mother" and my phone rings. It's like she KNOWS. (God forbid)
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
EVEN KEEL
The Famous Boundary Agreement was yesterday signed sealed and delivered (pending an OK from Berkshire Bank, and we don't see a problem there, famous last words). Mike Sanders and his lawyer went over to Peg's and we had a FaceTime conference call while they went over the quit claims, read them all out, and Peg signed on the dotted line. Or not, as it happened, since she signed her name wrong and there was a bit of a palaver as a copy of that particular page had to be brought up on the computer then get the printer to recognize the laptop and---so on. While waiting for all this, and I hung on making small talk about the weather, Peg tried to introduce the Lack of Collie Puppies In Her Life but I nixed that sharpishly, as did Bonnie, even from the other room, changing the subject to short ribs. Anyhow it's all finally done. Sanders said he also had "some ideas" if I wanted to discuss the Leland Road acreage at some point. I do indeed. This is where the frontage is on the Becket property that COULD be parceled off as building plots. In a pinch.
Other than that, it's been quiet. When I don't hear from Peg I have to assume she is happy (ish), which pleases me, since my having to dash over there then seems less urgent. So I have put travel plans on hold. Besides which I'm not feeling 100% yet. Thinner, though, which is nice, having had no alcohol in two weeks and have cut out sugar, having lost the taste for it. The idea of a cookie makes me gag. (Hopefully this will right itself in time.)
So am busying myself working through The List over here, taking advantage of the lull before the storm--because there is SURE one to be brewing. So:
- Typed up an interview I'd done with my dad five years ago about his time in Falstad Prison in Norway during the war. Had promised a copy to the head archivist there (it's now a museum) but hadn't got round to it.
- Had a slew of head shots taken of DK yesterday. The last decent pics of him are about 20 years old and we need some for PR for his upcoming memoirs launch.
- Pruned the roses and cleared dead stuff from two beds and would have raked pine cones but Mabel became annoying trying to eat the rake.
- Got a video ready of an old Ethel and Albert for Comic Relief, Red Nose day in March.
- Found someone to help me turn DK's memoirs into epub and other digital formats. Am sure I can do this myself now, at least for next time.
- Found a landscape designer to re-think this garden/driveway to incorporate New Peg Hutte. The New Peg Hutte she now doesn't want to move into.
- Watched a run-thru of this year's village panto, A Christmas Carol, and gave them my notes, for what they're worth. And again managed to say "no" when it came to getting involved in the running crew. I think I'm prouder of that than anything I've mananged to accomplish ever in Becket. In fact, am going to say "no" all the time I've decided, to everything, now that I've discovered how good I am at it.
And--that's about it. Will continue writing a novel about an incident in Peg's life which has kinda taken my fancy. And hope that Peg meanwhile stays focused on Minnesota because that is keeping her going, as are her pills, which she is now letting Terri oversee at nights. I see on her online banking that she has bought a silver Claddagh ring for Dominick. Not that I wanted one, or indeed any gift, I have far too much crap in my life. Still. I didn't notice any Christmas gifts winging their way over here.
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