Taking Inventory

I used to work in retail. I'm used to taking inventory.

We're still digging out. We've yet to tackle the basement but the dungeon has been restored to a lovely guest room. It's bright and airy. It's private.

I am picking up my niece at the airport in a few hours. (Technically, she's a second cousin of the husband's but since her mother is an honorary sister, I like to think of her as my niece.) I want her to be comfortable so I'm doing the usual, last minute prep stuff. I hope she doesn't mind the handicap bars all over the bathroom. At least in the shower, they give you something to hang onto while shaving your legs. There's still a handicap toilet in the water closet. (They're taller than the norm.)

The back yard is lush and green. I was going to clean off the patio until it started raining. As I looked around, I realized how many things the husband has purchased for the comfort of the oldies. The gigantic heater, cushions, etc.

Some purchases were good. The bed we purchased is great. And, the guest room is much cozier with the fireplace.

Others were ridiculous. I ventured downstairs to find a file and I was faced with wheelchairs and every conceivable walker invented. Some are easily portable. Others are more convoluted but they have a seat. We have two temporary closets completely filled. We have more luggage than any world traveler could ever use. We have lots of canes.

I've thought about having a garage sale, although my neighborhood frowns on that. Instead of calling it a garage sale, I might call it an oldies sale.

Miserly Ways

I admire penny pinchers and people who can stretch a dollar. Although, it bugs me when they're cheap tippers. I hit both ends of the scale. Sometimes I spend money I shouldn't; other times I could compete for Cheapskate of the Year.

I rarely shop for clothing -- I own more than enough. I buy my cosmetics and hair products at the drug store.

The Belle would clip coupons and complain about the cost of certain items. Then she would go out and buy something unnecessary and obscenely expensive.

The husband and I recently took another trip to the dungeon to clean out Hangdog's things. Stuff with price tags. New shirts, ties, sport coats. Shoes and boots that had barely or never been worn. More leather gloves than any person could wear in a lifetime. We've only put a dent in the basement stuff.

We all have our indulgences. The Belle chose spoiling her man. The husband chooses golf. That includes club fees, golf trips and the endless pursuit of the perfect clubs. I do not want to guess how many sets he owns.

I'm not judging; I have my weaknesses too.

Going Through Their Stuff

No one wants to die but I'm pretty sure we're going to face it. I don't mean to be flip but the people who are left behind get the tough part.

Even though we spent tons of time going through the oldies' belongings when we sold the house in Mississippi, it just put a dent in it.

I have an irrational fear of someone going through my paperwork and notes. There's only one person I trust with it; maybe because I know she won't judge me. When my friend Patsy bacame ill, she developed an obsession with getting all things in order. As usual, she wanted to spare her husband any further frustration in the midst of grief.

So, we're in constant pursuit of paperwork and documents. It feels intrusive but it's necessary.

The dungeon is back in order but the 90 pounds of paperwork is not.

A Scavenger Hunt

I try very hard to respect the privacy of others in this house. The only exception was while the baby was in high school. I felt it was my duty and my right to do the occasional espionage sweep of his bedroom and backpack.

When the oldies got to Texas, she called a couple of times and asked me to go into the dungeon to look for a particular bill or other information she needed. I would never dig through drawers or closets without her permission.

Let me back up... Our can opener had been missing for days. (You can't make that green bean casserole with the french fried onions without a can opener.) Eventually, I had the husband and Houseboy looking in every possible kitchen drawer and cabinet. No one could find it.

My little voyage into the dungeon unearthed multiple missing items, including the can opener.

A Fall Day

There's something magical about the perfect Fall day: brightly colored leaves and a crispness in the air.

Yesterday was a Fall day around here but it wasn't the good kind.

I stopped counting after the fourth fall. As I watched the mother-in-law weave, bounce off walls and whack her head on the way down, I almost lost it. Instead of picking her up AGAIN, I truly considered just falling down myself. When I finally got her back in bed for the umpteenth time, I started speaking to her like the dog: "Lie down and stay!"

There were people here for the first fall and I know she will be horribly embarrassed when she remembers this fact. (I haven't talked to her yet today but I did go into the dungeon to make sure she's breathing.)

You know those moments when you think -- I just need to sit down for a moment. I was headed there when I heard the Unabomber in the hallway asking, "Any way a good-looking man can get a sandwich and a cup of coffee?" This is why I do not own firearms.

Today I can barely walk. It's not due to being hit by a car on Sunday; it's due to lifting her repeatedly yesterday. She is not a big woman but she's bigger than I am. I can't do it.

When my uncle was very ill, my aunt (who is tiny) dealt with many falls. He was a big man and there was no way she could lift him. She became very chummy with the 911 EMTs. This is my future.

The oldies are supposed to travel to Texas in 8 days. I can't imagine but I'm still hoping beyond hope that the trip will happen. We're supposed to go to the doctor today. That's a really good idea except I don't have a clue how to make it happen. I am in pain and there is no way I can maneuver both of them. Plus, if one of them falls, I'll just have to step over him or her. I couldn't pick up a potato, let alone one of them.