Clinging to the Barnacles

I’m sitting in the San Diego airport in a stupor, really looking forward to going home. Today was a big thrash – met with my parents’ primary care physician to get their DNR forms approved, asked him for referrals to other doctors in the town they are moving to – he had no idea, but he tried to use the online provider directory, messed up his computer connection, and asked me for assistance. There’s only so much helping I’m doing at this point. I politely told him I would do my own research. I actually found a decent doctor (I think), the same guy my mother also dug up from her phone calls, so we’ll see if that works out.

For 25 years the squeaky door in the “guest room” has been an irritant; it’s a challenge to easily sneak in and out. My quest to find a working can of WD-40 in the workbench pile was fruitless, so I used cooking spray instead. Fixed!

After wrestling old dusty purses from Mom, all with wadded up tissues inside (“but I might use them one day”), trying to make copies of keys that no longer are in production, and refusing offers of cut crystal dishes to slip into my carry-on luggage, I escaped.

Coming up on Thursday is an interview with a liquidator/estate sale organizer to see if my folks can offload any of their treasures for cash —and fortunately I’m not going to be present for that event. They’re on their own! It was set up by their potential realtor.

I’ll go back to facilitate the move and get things in order – but I need a long break.