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Spokane, WA
This profile photo is my mom and me at the beach--she is 26 and I am about 18 months. LOVE the joy!! I am a mom of three and a teacher; being a teacher means I have to go back and cut the f-bombs. There were a few. Because Alzheimer's sucks badly. This blog, for nine years now--skipping a few while I was too cheap to buy my domain name-- helps me un-peel and process the endless layers of sad woven with weird and--impossibly--comedy.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Sad-ass Sunday

        So this deep blue funk I'm in is palpable. It's been building since I cleared out my mom's storage unit in her condo that, after a year on the market, finally sold for some ridiculously low price. (Which means there's a chance, once the numerous creditors and former adult community are paid back, she can get into a nicer place, in or nearer Spokane.) I had to get her keys to the guardian so I did a last quick lookover at the boxes in there. I was going to take the antique curio cabinet that she loved but it was awkward and big and difficult to get in my minivan and she probably wouldn't remember that she cared about it anymore.  I took the childhood photos and the nice pillows and I left the sewing machine, bike rack, Christmas stuff.. just most of half a storage unit there for the guardian to deal with.
        I also took a small box with two vibrators in it; they are sheathed in these awful hand-knitted slippers that my grandparents gave her for Christmas in the early 2000's. They were created by some ladies from the Arlee Senior Center. The dichotomy of those objects is just too silly, and her lack of desire to masturbate so incredibly absent, given her neurological status; the whole thing is just so weirdly private I can't touch them, much less throw them away. They were the expensive ones I pressured her to buy at my friend's Passion Party six years ago.
       In other disjointed emotionally upheaving news, we're moving everything out of two floors (we have a 4-level split) in our house so we can get new carpet so I've been in hyper-mess overwhelm (paired with suppressed sadness) and ADD-sidetracking every two minutes. There are boxes of mom's stuff to give away, mom's stuff to keep (photos of my kids and my wedding, mostly) boxes of photos and curios to go to my dad, a few boxes of things she might want to have should she ever have her own room again. Six boxes of our own shit to donate.
       I tried on my mom's super nice black wool long coat a few minutes ago out in the garage (where all our furniture is) It's too small for me and I got sad about the leather gloves inside the pockets. Why? She doesn't go outside of her nursing home, much less dressed up, so she doesn't really need the gloves, or the coat, and there was a list in the pocket, too:
garbage liners
milk
cereal
laundry soap
from back when she still was trying to live independently and thought she'd remember to look in her pocket for the list.
      As I was moving a box of ceramic miniatures (that I had on a little display cubicle shelf in my childhood room) I stopped to show them all to Isabella (my husband was in the middle of carrying furniture that I think I was supposed to be clearing off, or helping him move or something) I gave her a tiny crystal perfume bottle with an emerald topper that my mom has kept for more than 50 years. I told her it was very special and to put it up on her tiny shelf in her room. Half an hour later, she came in to tell me Sophia had thrown it and it broke all over the driveway. I cried because it was actually an heirloom and I was stupid to have given it to a six-year-old and I knew Sophia was just pissed because I'd given it to Isabella and not her. And my memories of my mom and who she used to be and what she used to determine was worth saving and reasons she did are just that fragile. Throw+crash= .43 seconds.
So maybe I'm a little less sad now that I wrote this down but I also have a headache. I will go start dinner. And by that I mean heat up the oven because Mike went to get Papa Murphy's.

Thoughtful young me

Thoughtful young me

Seventies chicks

Seventies chicks
Me and my mom Lynn, 1973

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