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.
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.
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