Lessons from the Handyman

Of course now that I’m leaving tomorrow I finally found a fast, alcohol-free wireless connection – at Von’s Supermarket, open until midnight, hooray. That was yesterday’s success, along with convincing my parents to go out to dinner. We went late so their volume wouldn’t annoy other diners. The restaurant supplied free birthday desserts, everyone was happy.

This morning we had another visit from Terry, the contractor who came yesterday to fix the kitchen florescent lights held together with scotch tape. He returned to unclog the shower drain and leaky toilet that I discovered – Dad was oblivious to water pooling at his toes. Terry is a miracle worker. He created a word-of-mouth market niche for his services among the elderly ladies attending water aerobics classes at the Y. My mother used to attend when she was more mobile – and now, the women have all died except for her. Anyway, Terry developed a reputation for fast, honest repairs at a fair price – no advertising needed. He comes on holidays and weekends at no extra fee. He’s licensed. He’s the only guy my Dad trusts to come into the house to help with projects.

I watched Terry in action – he spoke slowly and loudly, he asked my father’s opinion even though he clearly didn’t need it, and he respected Dad’s knowledge about tools. He told me he fully understands the hoarding instinct, and he knows when to back off to avoid offending folks. His own father, now deceased, had traits similar to my Dad’s quirks. He helps the geriatric set, below cost, because he feels it’s giving back. He even let me throw decaying plastic pots into his truck (while he distracted Dad with chit chat).

Terry refused payment today – however but he did want something. He wanted the never-worn pith helmet. He was eyeing it yesterday when all the men were bonding in the garage, but knew my mother was getting upset about the upheaval in her world so he backed off. My father was more than happy to gift it to him – along with an ancient battery charger (yes, it still works).

I thought about Terry while wandering the beach roads this afternoon. I am humbled by his attitude, and hope that his karma will help me deal with this increasingly stressful situation with more grace. Many of you have commented that reading my blog brings on laughter along with tears. Thank you for recognizing my writing efforts and my need to smile through the pain. Attached is a picture of Terry and Sidney – kindred spirits.

So Many Surprises

Here are some of the things that went into the dump truck early this morning: IV poles (formerly used to hold up the garage door when it broke), moldy suitcases, ripped lawn chairs, typewriters, tripods, rusty microwave ovens, file cabinets, a large steel desk, aluminum milk crates, fans, heaters, kitchen chairs that lost their legs, and a never-used pith helmet. I told my father I paid the guy $100 to haul it all away (it was actually $200). My mother was still sulking and stayed in bed, screeching “don’t let her get away with this!”

My father ambled out to meet all the neighbors who showed up to try to take his tools – nice, middle-aged guys I had never met until today. They saw the open garage with treasures spilling out, and the giant truck, and they must have figured that everyone finally died and it was time for plunder. Now while I do consider poisoning my parents while they sleep, I haven’t acted on it. And the only stuff I actually want to keep is my Dad’s tools – there are at least 2 men I know who have been salivating over the tool stash for years (you know who you are). So I grabbed back the ancient hammers and redirected the guys to the ample supply of light bulbs.

After the truck groaned up the hill, I took a long shower and left for the rest of the day, with a stop at Goodwill to offload a broken record player and thousands of vacation slides. I saw some parts of coastal San Diego I had never visited, even though I lived here for a time, and appreciated the views and the sunny breeze. I pondered how my parents are going senile in very different ways – he is becoming forgetful and transient, she is bitter and angry – not really with me, I recognize. She is hostile about aging and losing her mental grip, and who can blame her?

I went to yet another bar – the hunt for a wireless connection plus happy hour bargains is turning me into a lush – and found a garbage bin to dump the many expired pill bottles I rounded up last night. Old drugs are supposed to be disposed to a safe place, I know, but it was either the bin or flushing them down the toilet, and I don’t trust their plumbing.

So Many Mysteries

1. Why is it that my folks are stone deaf unless it’s convenient that they’re not? They argued loudly in the doctor’s waiting room this morning about the cost of their prescriptions, the Medicare donut hole policy, the stupidity of Republicans, why are there so many obese people, etc. – was I mortified? Yes. Was everyone else amused? Mostly – not the fat people. My mother’s eye is doing great, by the way. Her social skills are still terrible.
2. Why was there a pile of hamburger buns on the living room floor, and in the middle of it, a bound copy of my Master’s thesis from 1984? A connection between the two, I cannot fathom. Then again, my topic was adolescent decision-making skills and my parents are rapidly regressing to children.

3. Why are there so many metal chairs in the backyard? I arranged for a guy with a truck to come tomorrow morning to take away the rusting yard furniture, most of it more than 25 years old and broken. This of course started a nasty argument in the parking lot of Costco over what was junk and what was “salvageable with a little paint.” Then they used the bathroom in the Tire Store, leading to my father bemoaning that he no longer had a car and missed the smell of rubber. Yes, I felt guilty about the removal of his driver’s license, and no, I did not confess my role. See picture of Dad nodding off by the Costco watermelons, waiting for his Rx to be filled.

4. Why do they need to take home the half-eaten bread, the pats of butter, and all the unused napkins when we go to a restaurant? That depression-era mentality is amazing. The new items are going to fill up the spaces I created last night as I attempted to dig through the mess – it’s sad that my impact is so short-lived.

5. Why are there no wireless connections in this town unless I go to a bar? The neighbor clued me in to a new pub – which actually serves great Buffalo chicken wings. That cheered me up. I’m now going to swim laps in the local YMCA pool – it’s 90 degrees out, I’m greasy, and I’m avoiding going back to their house until the cover of darkness when I can clean again.

Just came back to more screaming – it was intolerable – so I left to go to the local drive-in theatre for some nostalgia and fantasy. Last time I saw a drive-in movie I was 10!

So Many Layers

I’m back in San Diego, the stories start again. Mom got a virectomy on her eye this morning to clear up the debris floating around from prior surgeries (outpatient, done with lasers to remove cataract remnants and vitreous floaters). A strange historical moment: the Scripps Mercy admitting nurse handing my 90-year old mother a Fujitsu tablet and asking her to tap consent into the Electronic Medical Record system -- Mom's first high tech experience. I had faith in her surgeon's attention to detail because he noticed my many bruises and asked if I was okay (I fell off a ladder recently – the garage looks good, I don’t.) Today is Mom’s actual birthday. After surgery was over, the medical staff decorated her with a giant banner like a beauty queen; I promptly posted the picture on Facebook to rave reviews. Considering all the things that might have gone wrong, the procedure was quite the success. We celebrated with takeout deli and cheesecake (not at all diabetic-compliant).

Afterwards, I took advantage of my mother’s lack of sight and my father’s exhaustion to throw out rotting fruit, stale Halloween candy and assorted artifacts. Did you know that overripe bananas explode when disturbed? I tossed hundreds of magazines in the recycle bin and discovered the mystery cache of soda cans that my father was planning to turn in for a reward. After ants started to crawl up my legs, I needed a sanity break at Santee’s newest hip hideout – the local microbrewery. It’s 5 minutes away, it has decent beer, but alas, with no wifi connection, it’s not such a find. I’m back sitting in a lawn chair on the driveway, hacking into the neighbor’s connection. I bought my father a year’s supply of kitchen garbage bags, which was an exciting product discovery – he’s been taping together plastic grocery sacks for decades. His 90th birthday is this Sunday, so that might be his present.

Another action-packed day is planned for tomorrow with appointments and errands. I am determined to eliminate the rusty lawn furniture in the back yard, wish me luck.

When Mom Pees Blue

We had the long awaited healthcare crisis a few days ago, when my mother was taken to the hospital for dehydration and diarrhea. I was actually relieved, since I thought she would finally trigger an all-out community alert for quick transfer to the nearest skilled nursing facility. No such luck; they pumped her up with fluid and sent her home. She complained endlessly about everyone’s stupidity, then called me in a panic as she noticed her urine was blue. I alerted her nurse case manager. I Googled side effects of antibiotics. I wondered if my father was poisoning her. Well, guess what. They now have a weekly house cleaner – who scrubbed the toilet with blue liquid cleanser. And then didn’t flush it.

Medical mystery solved, leading to the next problem – Mom lost a molar crown when she finally started eating again after a week of milkshakes. She carefully put the remnants in a cup on the kitchen table, and then it disappeared under the mounds of crumbling coupons, never to be seen again. It’s unlikely that the dentist would have wanted to re-glue the pieces, but that doesn’t matter. Why waste a perfectly good piece of porcelain? Now Mom and Dad match – he lost a crown 6 months ago and refuses to get it fixed – why bother spending money on dental care when he doesn’t like to smile.

I’m dealing with my own dental issues, and I just checked my urine, and this is making me even more paranoid about aging.

Can You Hear Me Now?

I just completed a short visit to my parents, looped onto a business trip.  As soon as I arrived I had to wire and install speakers in their bedroom. They've been waiting months for me to do it. The speakers looked vaguely familiar. I realized that I bought them in 1972, when in high school. I listened to Iron Butterfly and Supertramp on those walnut veneer speakers. They've been dropped a few dozen times over the decades, are chipped and dusty, yet apparently still work. Do you think your Kindle will function 40 years from now?

It gets better. My Dad agreed to have me sell his 212 record albums, which he thought he fairly valued at $1 each. Well that’s not quite how it works . . . I’ve been researching this for a while and I finally found a place that gave me $21 for the pile, hmm, about 10 cents per album. Despite bringing them to the gayest neighborhood in San Diego, all those show tune soundtracks from the 1960’s were not so desirable. Note that Dad carefully blacked out all the “promotional – not for sale” labels on the albums that he got for free back when my brother was a deejay. He didn’t want to get in trouble with the music police.

I was tempted to find a slide rule to calculate my commission - however Dad graciously let me keep the proceeds. I realized flying home tonight that my own music system is more than 20 years old and I’m still using my speakers as furniture (thanks Bob, for that nostalgic trigger).  So I’m going to buy a new setup tomorrow. Not succumbing to genetics this time, no way!

To Laugh or Cry - Part 3

Yesterday was a 7 hour marathon of laundry. Their bed linens fell apart when I removed them. The washer’s spin cycle doesn’t work, requiring each sopping load to go through the dryer 3 times. I saw certain things that may scar me for life. Since my mother cleaned up my shit 55 years ago, I returned the favor. Enough said about that.

Today was a series of trips going back and forth, including a doctor visit to find out that my mother has a bad eye infection, but isn’t really going blind - yet. She complained loudly in the waiting room about health care and Republicans, and when there was no response, she complained about apathetic voters.

I took advantage of my father’s woozy state on pain drugs to strike a deal. If he would let me take away his ancient, heavy vacuum cleaner, I would drive him to Costco to get a decent one, and then I would return the flimsy one my brother bought last week, He held out for Fry’s Electronics, his former sanctuary. I tried to throw in 2 of 3 plugged up electric brooms. He offered up a broken sponge mop. As a skilled negotiator, I knew when to fold. Sort of.

Those who have already seen the photo know what happened next. I frantically stuffed every broken appliance I could find into the rental car while he was in the bathroom. Plus an assortment of crumpled hoses. It was like that old TV show where people grabbed as many items as possible in their shopping carts. I was so excited that I forgot to close the car door and things started falling out as I drove down the street. I found the neighborhood electronics recycling center, and quickly unloaded everything onto a dock while his head was down.

Then, in a sudden rainstorm, off we went 20 miles away to Fry’s. As we pondered the array of choices, a friendly shopper said, “hey, you know you can get these 2 models for half price at a local discount store in Santee – plus I have a 25% off coupon you can use.” This guy told me he lived in Arizona, was visiting his elderly mother in Santee, and was running around trying to make her happy. If I had time, I would have taken him out for a drink. Anyway, Dad immediately insisted we drive back all the way to Santee in rush hour traffic, where he gleefully bought a vacuum that was a DEAL. It’s unlikely he will ever take it out of the box.

P.S. My rental car is full of clumps of dirt; ironically I have no way to clean it.

To Laugh or Cry - Part 2

The family conference call took place and was reasonably successful. Eight of us took turns explaining our perspective about how aging sucks; my 29-year old nephew being the most coherent. Meals on Wheels starts on Monday 3 times/week, and maybe my Dad will let them past the front door.

I’m now in San Diego, sleeping in a private room at a youth hostel close to Ocean Beach, complete with aging surfers, yogurt smoothies, and happy dogs running on the sand. The hostel has a giant monitor lizard basking in the common area. I’m hiding out here until Tuesday. It’s a friendly and clean place for $40/night. I love hostels.

I drive to my parents’ house each day at 11 am, which is when they wake up. They live in a soul-less suburb with giant RVs and many fast food choices. My mother is going deaf and blind, screaming at my father constantly because she is having anxiety attacks. My father sleeps a lot, partly from being on Vicodin after his recent surgery and partly to escape my mother. I drove him 20 miles today to get ink cartridge refills for his ancient printer, just so he could get a break.

I have been trying to scrub decades of dirt and dust, with minimal success. Since my brother tried to vacuum last week, I chose other challenges. Their toilet broke this morning – according to my father, because my mother plugs it up with paper. According to my mother, because my father keeps forgetting to throw bleach into it to kill the tree roots. They keep each other alive by goading each other. Their daily highlight is getting the mail and perusing the coupons for deals they will never use.

I was keeping it together, stoically running errands and pretty much ignoring their symbiotic routine. Until I talked to the neighbor who drives my Dad to the grocery store each week. She told me that he teases her about coloring her hair, telling her “you should let it go silver like my daughter, who is proud and beautiful.” Then I lost it, because he would never directly say that to me. That nice lady had no idea why I ran out of her living room.

I tried to go swimming to revert back to the womb, however the local pool was closed. My sanity was saved by having dinner with a friend, he gave me a big hug and we drank lots of wine. Tomorrow morning I’m going to walk the pier to clear my head, drive out to Santee, and start the fun all over again.

See photo of my "survival pack" - whistles for my parents to blow at each other, a bell to ring instead of yell, and a panic button that emits a howling scream (for me).

To Laugh or Cry – Part 1

Well it’s time to check on the supply of crusty ketchup packets, so I’m heading down to Santee in a few days. Also, my father is having hernia surgery, which is normally minor but in an 89-year old, not so simple. My brother is already there, having a mental breakdown. His only real role is to provide transit for errands, deposit my Dad at the hospital, and remember to pick him up. Then he leaves town and I show up a few hours afterwards (yes, scheduled that way on purpose). Unfortunately, the rental car company flaked out, he couldn’t get a car for another day, he had no idea how to use light rail transit (a suburban New Yorker with little awareness that such things exist), and he asked me to assist. My first mistake was that I did help – I got hold of a supervisor, I threw a hissy fit about elderly folks at risk, I called the neighbor, etc. Ultimately it worked out. I also asked my nephew to step up and be the adult in the family, since the rest of us are bad at it.

Mistake #2: I checked back today to find out that my brother tried to get rid of the six non-working vacuum cleaners and bought a new one from the local Walmart. Faithful readers, you all understand what a major snafu that was – my Dad insisted that a little more duct tape would solve the problem, refusing to open the new ecologically sensitive unit, and saying that no one could see the dust anyway. Especially my mother, who is losing her sight in her remaining good eye, freaking out with anxiety attacks, and insisting that my father is trying to kill her. I’m thinking that there isn’t room for any more electrical cords to be used as curtains, and maybe my Dad got the hernia from trying to relocate them.

There’s a conference call on Wednesday with my parents, the case manager, the social worker, me, my brother, and my cousin Mike, who is the only semi-balanced one in the extended family. I helped set it up as an intervention to try to get some home care, Meals on Wheels, and miscellaneous resources in place. I don’t expect miracles, and I had to tutor my brother on how to “”dial” the passcode.

I got a massage this afternoon, which was first smart thing I’ve done lately. Well, the second. The first was not going skiing yesterday and not getting caught in an avalanche, but that’s another story. For some strange reason, during the massage I thought a lot about my maternal grandmother, who died when I was 15. She’s trying to tell me something important, but I don’t know what it is.

Things are tense.