The Arrival

Things went surprisingly smooth today. I got on the road at 8:45 to drive the hour to Wilsonville. The car wasn't there yet. When I got there Laurent and Nina offered me homemade bread with homemade peach jam and a latte. What can put a person in a better mood than that?

We went out in the garage to make sure everything was out of the way. My mother pointed to a chair and told me she hadn't wanted to bring it. It was falling apart. I looked it over and she was right. We took an axe to it and broke it up into pieces, which Laurent put in a black garbage bag and I stuffed it into my car to take home for my garbage collection on Thursday.

In the early afternoon, the truck arrived. Lori, the driver, jumped out and had to move the Ferrari from the bottom to the top and then she had to back the Cuda out. Finally, she used her air compressor pump up the Buick's flat tire so she could back it out.

We did have to enlist some help from the neighbors because the Buick isn't running. They pushed the Buick out onto the lift gate and then out into the street.

That was the easy part. Then they had to push it into the garage.

Then Lori packed the Cuda back into the truck under the Ferrari.

Close the door.

Buick safe and sound.

And off Lori goes.

The Phone Call

Today I drove to Wilsonville and met with my sister, Nina, and my parents. They've been to several different places to look for a place to live. Today, we went to an independent living senior center for a tour. The tour took a long time and I got worn out. If you didn't need a scooter before moving into one of those places, you'd need one within a week. Those halls are long and my legs are short.

At five minutes after five we got floor plans and price lists and menus and calendars of events and packed them all out to my sister's car. The parents got in and fumbled around with their seatbelts as Nina's phone rang. "Hello?" She squinted so she could hear better, and waved her hand in the air to silence us. "Oh, yes, the car. When are you arriving? Five minutes?"

Four indrawn breaths sucked the air out of the car.

"Oh, you're joking...when...tomorrow...okay...what?...cash or cashier's check...okay, great...see you tomorrow."

"Was that the car carrier about the Buick?" my mother asked.

"Yes," Nina answered. "It will be here tomorrow. She is going to find a place to stay tonight about three hours away from here, so it will be early tomorrow."

"Great," we all said together. I could barely wait to see the car again.

My sister put the car in gear and rolled forward toward the front gate. "Yes. Did you know they needed $2,500 in cash or cashier's check?"

My eyes widened. I did vaguely remember that. I glanced at my mother in the front seat. Her eyes were wide and glassy, like a deer in the headlights. She just stared at Nina.

"Yeah, I kind of remember them saying that," I said. "Did you remember that, Mom?"

She continued to stare like a figure in a wax museum. Drool formed at the corners of my mouth and threatened to slide down my chin.

"Mom?"

"Um...I forgot."

My eyes shot to my watch. At 5:10 on a Saturday afternoon it would be impossible to come up with that kind of money. Why, oh why hadn't I thought to remind my poor parents of this little detail? My mother started digging through her purse. "Seventeen dollars."

Dear Lord.

When we got to Nina's house, they all jumped out and ran into the house with glazed expressions. I unlocked the door of my car and dumped out my ashtray. Three dollars in quarters and eighty-six pennies. It was a good start.

I tipped over my purse and gathered up all the change at the bottom and the crinkled up dollar bills. Nearly twenty more dollars. I mentally calculated how many friends I could call to trade a check for cash. Nina and her husband, Laurent, flew out of the house and crammed themselves into the car, heading for the cash machine. Nina rarely uses the ATM, so when she stuck her card into the machine and punched in her number it said the code did not match the card. She tried again, but it was still wrong. "Ah," she thought, "that must be the wrong card. She searched through her wallet and purse and found another ATM card and shoved it into the machine.

"Card Expired."

The machine did not give it back.

I borrowed Laurent's car and drove the hour to my house to unload the two tables that were my grandmother's and search my house for money. I knew I had some, I just didn't know where or how much. I wondered how many packs of gum I could buy and write the check for the maximum over the sale price for cash back. We have a lot of stores in Vancouver. If I wrote checks at 200 stores, I might get enough. Nina and Laurent were in the process of attempting that very process. Laurent had better luck at the ATM, though. That cut down on the number of grocery stores we had to visit.

Between what we all had on hand and our various stops we managed to scrape up the required cash. Thank heavens they didn't want a million dollars. How do kidnappers expect a person to raise that kind of money in 24 hours. It took us most of the evening, and three different families to raise enough to ransom the Buick.

"Oh," Nina said, "did I tell you it has a flat tire?"

I love AAA. I'm bringing my card tomorrow and calling them. There are no problems that cannot be solved...with Triple A and a bottle of rum.

July 28, 2009

Back to the house for last minute items. The plumber never showed yesterday. The sewer contractor is beside himself because he cannot dig up the septic tank and finish the job until the plumber hooks up the house to the sewer line.

Dale called places to donate the van. My parent's paper lady offered to buy the van. My parents agreed and they worked out a contract. The paper lady, Terry, had no problem with parking the van until we could send the title to her in two weeks.

We had a few errands to run and then my mother dropped us off at the Logan Express in Framingham, a couple hours early. We caught the bus and 35 minutes later we gathered up all the luggage in front of the Alaska Airlines terminal. My dad took his suitcase and a carry on. I took my suitcase, my carryon, my mother's computer, his other carryon, my CPAP machine and his other check on bag. I felt like a pack mule. But I really didn't think he could handle more than the two items.

The check-on counter was not open yet. We had to wait an hour. My father gets nervous flying and so he talked continually from noon on. At 1:30 the counter opened and we checked on four bags. We headed for security and my dad took off his shoes and put his one carryon on the belt and tippy-toed through the metal detector. On the other side he slipped on his shoes, grabbed his bag and started off. I was still putting my computer in a bin, my mother's computer in another bin, my CPAP machine in another bin, my computer bag, my mother's computer bag, my CPAP bag, and my shoes in other bins. They stopped the belt when my CPAP came into view and they glanced up at me and glared. "I'm going to run some tests on this," they sneered.

"Dad, dad, wait up." I had the two bins with the two computers, but the bags were on the other side of the CPAP and I had to wait.

My toe hung out of my sock. How did THAT happen. It was fine when I put it on. Honestly it was. I curled my toes under so they wouldn't stick out and saw my father about a hundred feet away, looking around for me. I waved my arms in frantic panic and shifted from one foot to the other. I forgot and my toes stuck out again. They brought the CPAP back and handed it to me with down turned lips. The bags rushed out of the machine now and people were behind me, growling and snarling at the delay...caused by me and my CPAP. I jammed the computers into the bags, zipped the CPAP back into its case, ripped my shoes out of the bin and schlepped the whole mess over to a bench so I could cover my toes with my shoes.

Once on the plane, my father talked, non-stop, poking me in the arm if he felt my attention wavered. This went on the entire trip. My head was splitting by the time the wheels touched down in Portland.

It was 107 degrees.

I glanced around for anyone with horns and a red cape.

My sister, Nina, and her husband, Laurent, picked us up and dropped me off at my car. My daughter came running up with my cats and we loaded up my car with my luggage and the cats and I went home, crawled into the house and staggered down the hall to my bed.

My father went to Nina's house.

July 27, 2009

We trudge to the hotel lobby for the free breakfast in the morning. It is surprisingly good. Coffee, juice, eggs, sausage, cereal, pastries, waffles, fruit, yogurt. We all choose our favorites and sit by the window overlooking the pool. It is 6:30 and we have plenty of time to eat before we have to get to the house.

Dad, don't forget your doctor's appointment. We all stop and stare at each other and then down at the empty plates. My father and mother groan. He was supposed to fast for a blood test.

We roll into the driveway about 7:30. The guy is there working on the sewer hook-up. He is finished, except for the plumber, who should be there soon to hook up the new pipes to the house. I load up the van and rush to the dump first thing. When I come back, my dad takes the van to the doctor. The oriental rug is still in the living room. We did not sell it. There is also a pretty blue oriental-style rug in the office. We forgot about that one. Too late. We have to get rid of it. I roll it up and carry it down to the road with a "free" sign. I start to spread it out by the road and a car nearly slams into the city water inspector truck, who has just pulled up. The lady hops out of the car and grabs the rug and stuffs it into her car. A "thank you" drifts out behind her. Off she goes. It is dangerous stopping on 135.

Aunt Leila and Uncle Jim arrive and we roll up the oriental rug in the living room. This is about 13' by 15'. My dad comes in from the doctor and I back the van up to the front window. Jim and Leila and I heft the rug out the window and yank it into the van. It gets stuck. We get ropes and use leverage. We heave. It moves. We sweat.

They tie the back door to the van down as best they can and drive it home. They are gone a long time and all I can see are huge piles of items that still need to go to the dump. I pace.

They come back and Jim and Leila and I take two loads to the dump. Then they help clean out the van. They pull out a vacuum and we spray it down with febreeze and by the time the man shows up to look at it, you'd never know we'd run at least three loads a day to the dump for the last nine days (except Sunday). The man takes it for a test drive and brings it back. His head is shaking and his mouth is set in a frown. "This van has so much wrong with it you'll be lucky to get $500 for it." He then proceeds to point out every minor little problem, like the flashing lights on the dash, the lit "air bags" light, the grinding noise that is probably the exhaust system, the three bald tires, the dent on the side, etc. Picky, picky, picky, I say.

"So, are you going to buy it?"

He snorts and backs away, shaking his head. He jumps into his own van and locks the doors before backing out.

Good. We didn't have the title anyway.

Charter Communications agreed to come disconnect the television boxes and shut down service. They'd be there "sometime on Monday" and would give no closer time frame. We'd been there since 7:30am. It was now ten after five. We had no chairs. If we sat outside we'd be eaten by bugs. I used my cell phone and called Charter. If the boxes did not get turned in, my parents would be charged. I finally got through the maze of "if you want to talk to us push a button, now push another one, now another, now another, now another" and finally got a human. Well, it sounded like a human. It seems "sometime during the day" means from 8am to 8pm.

I asked if they could tell me when the service person would get there. She couldn't tell me. Sometime before 8pm, she supposed. I mean, please. It is 2009. It is a COMMUNICATIONS company. Are they seriously trying to tell me that at 5:15pm, they cannot call the tech and ask him how much longer before he can get to our house?

Paul Allen would be horrified. They left me on hold for ten minutes. I hung up and called back. I asked for the supervisor. He was curt and didn't seem to care. I explained again that the house was empty, that we had no chairs, that my parents were in their 80s and having to stand, that we had been waiting since 7:30 am and asked if he could please call his service man and find out when he could get there. (If there was time, I could run my parents back to the hotel and come back. If it was going to be just a few more minutes, I would offer to stay and call them to come get me when Charter was through.) He said that the longer I explained these things the longer it would take for him to try dispatch again and that he'd already tried once with no luck.

I offered to make the call on my Verizon phone because it seems to work quite well. But no, he said he'd try dispatch again and that we'd just have to wait. I gave up after 45 minutes of waiting on the phone. I cannot believe there is a company in this economy, that is so completely insensitive and brazenly anti-customer service. It made me actually admire the call centers in foreign countries. All of you who have had any problems with Charter Communications, save yourselves. You have other choices. This is America. You can switch providers (providing you aren't under some sort of contract) and do not have to put up with it. But then, that is just my opinion. I'm sure there might be people who are pleased with Charter Communications. I just haven't met them. (Note to self: check your 401k portfolio to see if you own Charter Communications and sell)

We had pizza in Hopkinton and sneaked back to the hotel in the rental car. I talked my mother into letting me take her computer with me on the plane. My dad has two check on bags and two carry-ons. I have one check on bag and my own computer bag and my mothers and my CPAP machine. We got everything ready to go and fell into our beds. Well, my mother fell into her bed and my father fell into his bed and I gingerly lay down on the hid-a-bed couch. I settled into the bar that slices into the back and closed my eyes, but this is the second night with the bars sticking into my back and I could not sleep. I longed for the rum but it was gone.

I waited for dawn.

July 26, 2009

Sunday. Day of rest. Did anyone check this cabinet? Dear Lord. It is still full. More boxes. Is there any room on the truck?

My parents are supposed to fly out to the West Coast on August 1. I'm leaving on July 28. Someone has the brilliant idea that my dad should go with me and my mom will stay to sign the documents and get the check on the 31st.

We spend the morning packing the airbeds we slept on last night, and the sheets and pillows and remaining lamps, and lampshades, and bathroom supplies and manage to pack at least 20 more boxes. Where is all this coming from?

The dump is closed.

I drive my mother down to the nearest car rental place. Dale packs a huge load into her car and takes off for Vermont at 1pm. She has an art opening she must prepare for.

Mike loads all the rest of the boxes onto the truck and squeezes the doors shut. He fires up the engine and pulls out of the driveway at 4pm, enroute to Portland via Santa Fe.

Mom and Dad and I take a load of items to my cousins, including a dehumidifier that is practically new. We check into a hotel and shower and meet their neighbors at "Not Your Average Joe's" restaurant. I don't know how my parents can sit up in their chairs, yet they are troopers. I am not. I'm the first to admit I'm tired, cranky, sweaty, sore and I've got a huge mosquito bite on my cheek. This does not make me happy. But the neighbors are so sweet and cheerful and they've brought their parents along and it is a farewell party. It warms my heart.

The toilet is broken in the hotel. They don't have anyone to fix it. We can move to a different room.

Lord have mercy.

I lift the cover off the tank and dip my scabbed hands into the water and hook the chain back up to the paperclip that was holding two pieces of chain together. There is still some rum in the bottle in the little kitchen area of the hotel room. Ice clinks into three glasses. Cola sizzles. Rum glugs.

I get on Craig's list and someone wants to buy the van. I call him from my cell phone, running low on charge and minutes. He'll come to the house at 5pm tomorrow.

We've packed the pink slip. It is now 500 miles from us, somewhere on the truck. And I need the van because I'm going to have at least two more loads to the dump to do myself tomorrow.

Yeah, sure. Come tomorrow at 5pm.

July 25, 2009

We are all up by 5:30. Shower. Mom is packing up her office paperwork and hasn't eaten. I'm packing while I have a bowl of cereal. My brother is loading the "Mom's attic" of the huge Uhaul truck. There is a knock on the door at 6:30am. It is the movers. We are not ready.

But we are paying them an enormous amount an hour so they begin tossing blankets over furniture and wrapping them with stretch wrap. Boxes are being hauled out to the truck faster than we can pack them. A car shows up in the driveway at 7:15am. A couple comes in and buys the shield-back chairs. Just in time because the movers had already tried to load them onto the truck.

A big rig shows up and off-loads a backhoe and other equipment, all vying for space in the driveway. The roaring of earth moving equipment echos through the neighborhood.

I have TWO fever blisters on my lips from the stress. Just great. The truck is loaded except for all the stuff I couldn't pack "until the last minute." Well the last minute was four hours ago. The people we hired to load the truck are gone now and we'll have to load all the dang stuff ourselves.

A couple more loads to the dump.

I keep looking around and expecting to see the devil sitting in the room with me, saying, "welcome."

July 24, 2009

It is pouring. Rain is coming down in sheets and we have run two loads to the dump and are madly packing boxes. We purchased boxes from Uhaul. Fine, sturdy boxes. Can I pack this lamp?

No, wait to the last moment.

Can I pack the towels and bathroom things?

No, wait to the last moment.

Can I pack all the food and the rest of the glasses and plates and silverware and bowls?

No, wait to the last moment.

I am frustrated beyond belief. The truck and packers will be here in the morning. My mother's car has been sold through Craig's list. Someone is coming tomorrow at 7:30 to look at the shield-back chairs. It is a shame to sell them as they are beautiful, but they will not have room for them.

Another load to the dump.

The contractor is supposed to start the sewer project today. Seven days until closing. Rain is sleeting down.

Can I pack Dad's clothes?

Wait until the last moment.

The contractor arrives and we run another load to the dump. How can it be so dang hot when it is raining?

Crisis. I've packed the pots and pans. We have to go out for supper. Sweaty, dirty, dog tired, we tramp into Ted Turner's restaurant in Westborough. Service is as slow as blood through a clogged artery. We're afraid to say anything for fear of a stroke if we do. Our heads are nodding forward and I'm sure I hear a snore. The food finally arrives an hour later and I can hardly lift the fork. By the time we finish eating, I'm so stiff I can barely stand up. Into bed by 8:50pm.