Not a lot of good pickings around this year and boo-hiss to the neighbour who put out what looked like a nice glass topped patio table then loaded it with all their other rubbish. I nearly had the BOH ready to nick round the corner with the torch and drag it home when we copped a thunderstorm. Heavy rain meant the pink heart shape fluffy stool on legs would have been a soppy mess and heading for mouldville and I really wanted to give it to his girlfriend for Christmas or a farewell present.
There wasn't much on my nature strip, 3 television sets large, 1 tiny 6" black and white which broke my heart to dump because I bought it with my very own earnings, microwave which decided not to turn off except at the wall switch, 1 computer screen and a 40 year old refrigerator with the doors off as per instructions. That went in the first hour, mould and all. I am such a pack rat that the BOH practically had to wrench the 3 wheel washing trolley out of my hand but it still had 3 good wheels and I'm sure at some stage we'd have found another wheel. Besides the new one isn't as strong and I bet it won't last 25 years. He was eyeing off the garden gnomes but I promised mum I'd put them in my garden, they can go when she does.
I haven't posted much, err, not at all. Life has been slightly difficult. Visits to the home have become too much like a walk down memory lane. Four years of crazy mother multiplied by 6 new residents have had me clawing at the windows to get out. Mother, of course, doesn't remember the four years at all. So I have been mistaken for a African male nurse and a husband of one newby. Said husband is about 98, hunchbacked and 3'6". One of sister's patients came in and she said, lovely lady, go and talk to her. A bit hard since she arrived on a Friday, had a stroke at the dinner table on Saturday and the funeral has come and gone. Another newby is Lennie who is constantly on the look out for a pair of scissors or a knife to cut himself out of his wheelchair. And the resident escape artist/full moon strangler managed to find a wooden stake and a hammer that the builders had missed. There was some fancy talking to get those away from him.
I'm not ridiculing them, I'm letting you all know what you're in for. It's giving me anxiety attacks and I like to share my hysteria. My coping mechanisms of eating, gambling and spending are in freefall. I wasn't well yesterday, the sun was streaming in over the bed, I was warm and I was relaxing but I could hear my father's voice, "Your mother needs you". Crap, says I, but the voice kept on and on until I was ready to tell him to stuff his harp in his mouth. I get up, dress, get a cab and she's in bed. Bad for her, good for me because I didn't have to cope with "The Others". She'd had a crippling attack of rheumatoid arthritis in the knee and was in severe pain but glad to see me. My father's photo over the bed had a stern look. He never does this to my sister, just me. Damn deathbed promises to look after the old bat.
I think I might go down tomorrow just to see how the woman from "The body shop" copes with a demo of their products. I don't think she's done her homework about the residents unless she has a degree in Doolally.