Can somebody tell me what happened to the month of May? I missed it somehow. I try to recall and it’s just a big old blur.
In actuality, I wish I didn’t have to remember some of
it. The memory of the chain of events
from this past month sticks with me like one of those god-awful big-ass bugs
that hit your windshield and explode into a vision-blocking gore fest. And all the wiper fluid in the world won’t
wash it away.
I mean, really. It’s not like I didn’t have enough going on
with trying to keep my mother sane by long distance after my
stupid
brother’s latest escapade.
His poor
deserted wife in the Philippines phoning and emailing us incessantly, asking
for money for her and the boys.
Then one day our housekeeper falls apart. I inquire after what is wrong and, through
the magic of my pigeon Spanish and Estella’s artistry in mime, I was able to
dope out that the children she had left behind in Mexico were being beaten AND
tortured by her apparently recently insane mother. Her husband would not help her and,
basically, said you’re on your own. So
just with a little assistance and – we discovered - the money she had been
working so hard to earn and hiding it from her lovely spouse, she left us and
returned to her tin sheeting and cardboard home with dirt floor in Oaxaca.
And she was so much more than our housekeeper – she was a
friend and a beautiful human being.
We’ve heard from her and about her from her sister, who lives
locally. She’s fine and she has ‘me
babies’, as she calls them. And that’s
all that matters, bless her.
Then a week before Mother’s Day – one of the two high holy
days each year for a florist – Brian’s business partner falls down her stairs at home,
shattering her right leg and destroying her artificial knee. And when I say shatter – they had nothing to
work with. So instead of a femur, she
now has a titanium rod connecting her new knee to the rest of her. Not a quick recovery for this, no sir.
So, yours truly – in the week preceding my planned departure
to help Mom sort through and purge a lifetime of stuff - spent evenings doing
funeral pieces, corsages and boutonnieres, running deliveries during my lunch
hour – and all while packing and keeping things running at home.
Also – with Mom’s relocation and arrival expected in the
near term, I gave Brian permission to gut and redo the guest room – something
he’s been bugging me about for years.
Now keep in mind – that’s been our catch all for all the
stuff we don’t want to deal with ‘right now’.
This is the reason that the guest room and its walk-in closet contains
no less than two high Art Deco dressers, one 1920s chifforobe, an early
American writing desk, a queen bed, nightstands, chairs – and God knows what
else. Add to this books, mountains of
fabric, winter clothes, rugs, knick knacks without a home – and it’s a lot of
stuff. In order to clear the decks for
the renovation, this insanity was then spread throughout the upstairs, leaving
us looking like we are about one dead cat and a backed-up toilet away from
becoming an episode of Hoarders.
And no housekeeper.
And I’m leaving town. And Brian
is running things solo AND having to feed himself (never a good thing).
Next stop – Nebraska.
(To be continued)
