She's finally on ground level, in an apartment complex for people who are 62 years and older. What an ordeal..

My mother's sister came from the high desert to help her pack. She was there for 4 days prior to moving day. My mother's housekeeper, Marguerita, also helped pack. I brought boxes and the kidlet packed as well. Friday, the day before the move, I called my mother to see what time the next morning she needed me to arrive, and I was told that they were all done packing. We discussed how I would bring something for a late brunch or lunch. That was my assignment. Whoopeee!!! I was off the hook.

9:00 a.m. Saturday morning, the phone rang me awake. "You need to get over here right now!!!!" It was my mother. "Charlotte is doing everything!!!!" I reminded her that she had told me they were done. "Well, there is a lot to do, and you need to come RIIIIIGGGHHHTTT NOOOOOOWWWWWW!"

You see. These are the things that drive me crazy about that woman. She doesn't want to deal with things at the time the things are occurring - but she doesn't hestitate to fuck up your day, when she needs something done. All of a sudden - you exist...................

I got over there as quickly as I could, though I did take time to shower and have coffee. Yep. There was a lot to do alright. My big job was to sit in her television-less apartment, all alone, while the rest of them drove over to the new apartment to look around. That was the big emergency. Me sitting on my ass with nothing to do for 3 hours.

Two weeks ago, we discussed giving her loveseat to the Goodwill. Her new apartment is darling, but it's no bigger than a hotel suite with a mini-kitchen. No room for a full sofa, loveseat, chair, entertainment center, round glass coffee table and two end tables. She thought the lovseat could go. I told her the Goodwill would come right over and take that loveseat off her hands. Moving day, she looked aghast when I spoke of the loveseat in the care of the Goodwill. And of course, it doesn't fit in the living room. NOTHING fits in the living room. I called her today, and reminded her that maybe she'd better call the Good Will about her loveseat. She said "you mean your loveseat". I'm all - "I don't want your loveseat!! What the hell am I going to do with your loveseat?" She said "Well, I wondered what you were going to do with it when you asked me for it". And she's running around loose...

June 01, 2003