I arrived Saturday night at 9pm as planned, to find all lights off and everyone asleep. I let myself in (they don't lock the doors and the dog is worthless), brushed my teeth, and went to bed. 5 minutes later, Barbara comes into the room, yells at me that I was early, then yells at me that I'm in the wrong bedroom. After telling her several times I was fine, I finally gave in and moved to the other bedroom.
George woke me at 6am in the morning by yelling in my ear, "Are you awake?" I got up and listened to them both tell me how they get up every 2 hours because they are insomniacs, so they have a cup of coffee and go back to bed. I wrote "decaf coffee" on the shopping list.
They spent the entire morning telling my how the neighbor, Karen, keeps coming over and drinking 4 or 5 cans of beer, and how much this upsets them. I tell them they just have to say no. In the afternoon. the neighbor, Karen, comes over and asks for a beer, and Barbara tells her "no." I think everything is fine and then George says, "Come on, just one beer." Karen proceeds to help herself to four beers in an hour, and staggers home. That evening, she calls to see if she can come over, and Barbara tells her "no." Karen proceeds to come over anyway, and Barbara tells us not to answer the door. This seems childish but I agree, and Karen proceeds to ring the doorbell about 10 times before George answers the door and invites her to sleep on the sofa. Fortunately, her partner came and got her. I find out later the only reason she was over at George and Barbara's is because the shops aren't allowed to sell alcohol on Sundays; otherwise she would have walked to the gas station. (She can't drive; she has two DUIs and they took away her license.)
Sunday is 94 degrees. So are Monday and Tuesday. It's absolutely miserable, and they don't have air conditioning. That's not entirely true--they had central air but that broke down four years ago, so they installed window air conditioners in two bedrooms, but one of those was taken out by an electrical surge last September, literally the day after my last visit. ( It also destroyed the oven, the microwave, the dishwasher, two televisions, one phone, a clock, and the computer. Needless to say, the power company said they weren't responsible, and the insurance company said they weren't covered.)
The remaining air conditioner was in the third bedroom -- the one I was ordered to sleep in -- but I refused to turn it on, just to see how hard it was to sleep at night. It turned out to be impossible, and I'm 41 -- my uncle is 85. I begged them to let me move the air conditioner into their room, but they insisted they have air conditioning for guests, of which they get about two per year, and it's usually me. So I bought a new air conditioner, and installed it in their bedroom. For some reason, they were okay with that. Mostly they're happy because the dog -- a large black lab -- doesn't like the heat.
A friend had fixed the computer a few months ago but George hadn't used it because he couldn't remember how to turn it on, even though I had left very clear instructions, and I mailed him a copy of the instructions, both of which I found sitting next to the computer. I wanted to get him used to using the computer again, so I called my mom and scheduled an online Scrabble match for Monday morning. George was quite excited, so it was really hard to tell him when my mom didn't show up. Tuesday she was busy, Wednesday we were busy, so maybe we'll have one match on Thursday. Hopefully that will be enough.
On Monday evening, Bobby from the Appliance Repair Center came by to look at the stove and dishwasher. The stove had been fried -- pardon the pun -- and replacing the controller board would cost almost as much as a new stove, so there wasn't much point there. The dishwasher, however, was working fine, it just wasn't draining. When Bobby cleared the drain, he found shards of glass which had destroyed the impeller, and replacing that cost $245! I went ahead and paid, not because they need the convenience of a dishwasher, but because the previous day I had watched my uncle finish a bowl of cereal, rinse it, and then put it back in the cupboard, declaring it clean. It still had bits of cereal and milk in it.
The next day, I also saw my aunt throw away a glass that had cracked, and my uncle fetched it out of the trash and tried to put it in the dishwasher. My aunt stopped him this time, but I suspect it won't be long before the dishwasher needs a new impeller.
For the stove, I took them to the Discount Appliance Outlet, which sells refurbished appliances However, Barbara wasn't interested in the stove at all, but was eyeballing a refrigerator because, even though her current one works fine. she hates having a side-by-side, and the seal is a bit tattered which is allowing mildew to grow along the edge. I thought, that's crazy to spend $187 on a fridge, and asked how much a new seal would be. They said $70 plus installation. Per door. Suddenly $187 doesn't sound so bad! I'm still thinking about it.
Tuesday afternoon, Jim stopped by. He delivers meals to George and Barbara every other week, for his church, and on one of these visits George apparently complained to him about the state of the den. George complained to me as well, but I ignored it because they never use the den. It's a converted garage, it's not comfortable, there is nothing in it besides a sofa and an ironing board, and the only reason they go in it at all is to leave via the side door, because if they use the front door the dog pushes his way past and escapes. The side door, however, is exposed to the elements, and some water leaked through and discolored the paint. When the neighbor took off the door trim to repaint, he found evidence of termites, and so he left the door trim off until the termites were dealt with. That was two years ago.
So Jim, being an unnaturally nice person (and I've met quite a few in this area), came by and spackled the wall, repainted the door, and replaced the molding (no easy feat considering the original molding had long been lost). He also repaired the soffits, cleaned the exterior wood, and even dusted all the cobwebs. (Did I mention they never use the den?) He worked for 3 hours in the 94 degree heat, and his shirt was soaked through. My aunt and uncle didn't thank him, because they thought I had hired him.
I also met Jim's partner, Linda, who is starting a new business called "helping hands" or "extra hands" or "extra helping hands" -- I don't really know. Barbara was complaining earlier that day that she couldn't mop the floors because it hurt her back, and so I was talking to Linda about coming once a month to help Barbara do what she couldn't. Linda was really sweet and I thought everything was fine; we just needed to pick a day, but by then Barbara had locked herself in the bedroom. Linda said she'd call to schedule it, but that nightI heard Barbara yelling at George that she kept the house clean and didn't need any help. George told her that when Linda called, he would thank her and let her know they didn't need any help. I'm sure they were trying to be clever and sneaky, but when one of them is deaf and they have to yell at each other, it doesn't always work. I haven't figured out how to handle it yet. You would think they would be grateful for my help, but they fight me every step of the way.
For example, the Barrow County Senior Center. It's an ambulatory day care facility which is funded entirely by the state, and they provide transportation, lunch, a pool table, exercise classes, etc. for free to anyone over the age of 60. It's a nice, quiet, air conditioned place to socialize for four hours, whenever they want. I discovered this on my last visit, but I needed to make an appointment to register, and they couldn't do it until the day after I left. Their friend Paul offered to drive George over but when he arrived that morning, George refused to go.
I don't take no so readily, so on Wednesday I got George signed up, but he is already telling me he won't go, because he doesn't' like talking to strangers. Which is odd, because whenever we go someplace he will spend hours talking to strangers. He is absolutely starved for contact, but at 85 doesn't really see himself fitting in with "those old farts," even though his favorite topic are his medical conditions.
His second favorite topic at the moment is "Law and Order," the TV series. That's because the USA channel plays it 24 hours a day, and they watch is 24 hours a day, although lately they've been watching the live "Casey Anthony" murder trial, as well. After the third time he tried to engage me in a serious discussion about the acting talents of one of the lead characters, I yelled at him that I didn't care about Law and Order. I must have hurt his feelings, because he's only brought it up twice since.
We also went to see the doctor, who is on a first name basis with George. It was the typical affair -- had an appointment for 11am, waited in the lobby until 12:30, saw the doctor for 10 minutes, and left with a prescription for three medications, on top of of the nine George is already taking. George, who had been complaining of his prostate for three days, suddenly became very sheepish in front of the doctor, and what had been "hurting like hell" was now "a little bothersome." The doctor was suprised to find George was no longer taking the prescription for his prostate he had previously given, and gave him another one. I suspect this is very common, as George is seeing three specialists for various problems, and no one coordinates anything. It does make you wonder how other seniors are coping.
In the evening, I took George and Barbara to celebrate their 45th wedding anniversary. We went to "Fatz Cafe," which seems unfortunately named--or possibly appropriately named--in the south, where most of the people are on the "plus" side of the scale. The very far side. I have to say, having lived in London for three years, I've really started hating coming back to America -- as soon as the plane lands, the aisles are full of loud, fat, annoying people. And the roads are full of ridiculously large vehicles either travelling at 90mph in the slow lane, or 50mph in the fast lane. And everything is a drive-through: Food, ATMs, prescriptions. Why do they still have six-acre parking lots when most people won't even get out of their car?
So that is my vacation so far. Tomorrow I have to run down to Home Depot to get some pink paint to finish the den, get back in time to set up the scrabble game, pack, go to the post office to mail a 6 oz tube of cream to my mother so I don't have to check my bag at the airport (which would cost $25!), call someone about steam cleaning their upholstery so it doesn't smell like the black lab, leave for the airport by 3 and pray I don't get stuck in traffic.
Then I've got three manic days in LA before I go to Sacramento to see my family, and it's supposed to be 97 degrees there.
George woke me at 6am in the morning by yelling in my ear, "Are you awake?" I got up and listened to them both tell me how they get up every 2 hours because they are insomniacs, so they have a cup of coffee and go back to bed. I wrote "decaf coffee" on the shopping list.
They spent the entire morning telling my how the neighbor, Karen, keeps coming over and drinking 4 or 5 cans of beer, and how much this upsets them. I tell them they just have to say no. In the afternoon. the neighbor, Karen, comes over and asks for a beer, and Barbara tells her "no." I think everything is fine and then George says, "Come on, just one beer." Karen proceeds to help herself to four beers in an hour, and staggers home. That evening, she calls to see if she can come over, and Barbara tells her "no." Karen proceeds to come over anyway, and Barbara tells us not to answer the door. This seems childish but I agree, and Karen proceeds to ring the doorbell about 10 times before George answers the door and invites her to sleep on the sofa. Fortunately, her partner came and got her. I find out later the only reason she was over at George and Barbara's is because the shops aren't allowed to sell alcohol on Sundays; otherwise she would have walked to the gas station. (She can't drive; she has two DUIs and they took away her license.)
Sunday is 94 degrees. So are Monday and Tuesday. It's absolutely miserable, and they don't have air conditioning. That's not entirely true--they had central air but that broke down four years ago, so they installed window air conditioners in two bedrooms, but one of those was taken out by an electrical surge last September, literally the day after my last visit. ( It also destroyed the oven, the microwave, the dishwasher, two televisions, one phone, a clock, and the computer. Needless to say, the power company said they weren't responsible, and the insurance company said they weren't covered.)
The remaining air conditioner was in the third bedroom -- the one I was ordered to sleep in -- but I refused to turn it on, just to see how hard it was to sleep at night. It turned out to be impossible, and I'm 41 -- my uncle is 85. I begged them to let me move the air conditioner into their room, but they insisted they have air conditioning for guests, of which they get about two per year, and it's usually me. So I bought a new air conditioner, and installed it in their bedroom. For some reason, they were okay with that. Mostly they're happy because the dog -- a large black lab -- doesn't like the heat.
A friend had fixed the computer a few months ago but George hadn't used it because he couldn't remember how to turn it on, even though I had left very clear instructions, and I mailed him a copy of the instructions, both of which I found sitting next to the computer. I wanted to get him used to using the computer again, so I called my mom and scheduled an online Scrabble match for Monday morning. George was quite excited, so it was really hard to tell him when my mom didn't show up. Tuesday she was busy, Wednesday we were busy, so maybe we'll have one match on Thursday. Hopefully that will be enough.
On Monday evening, Bobby from the Appliance Repair Center came by to look at the stove and dishwasher. The stove had been fried -- pardon the pun -- and replacing the controller board would cost almost as much as a new stove, so there wasn't much point there. The dishwasher, however, was working fine, it just wasn't draining. When Bobby cleared the drain, he found shards of glass which had destroyed the impeller, and replacing that cost $245! I went ahead and paid, not because they need the convenience of a dishwasher, but because the previous day I had watched my uncle finish a bowl of cereal, rinse it, and then put it back in the cupboard, declaring it clean. It still had bits of cereal and milk in it.
The next day, I also saw my aunt throw away a glass that had cracked, and my uncle fetched it out of the trash and tried to put it in the dishwasher. My aunt stopped him this time, but I suspect it won't be long before the dishwasher needs a new impeller.
For the stove, I took them to the Discount Appliance Outlet, which sells refurbished appliances However, Barbara wasn't interested in the stove at all, but was eyeballing a refrigerator because, even though her current one works fine. she hates having a side-by-side, and the seal is a bit tattered which is allowing mildew to grow along the edge. I thought, that's crazy to spend $187 on a fridge, and asked how much a new seal would be. They said $70 plus installation. Per door. Suddenly $187 doesn't sound so bad! I'm still thinking about it.
Tuesday afternoon, Jim stopped by. He delivers meals to George and Barbara every other week, for his church, and on one of these visits George apparently complained to him about the state of the den. George complained to me as well, but I ignored it because they never use the den. It's a converted garage, it's not comfortable, there is nothing in it besides a sofa and an ironing board, and the only reason they go in it at all is to leave via the side door, because if they use the front door the dog pushes his way past and escapes. The side door, however, is exposed to the elements, and some water leaked through and discolored the paint. When the neighbor took off the door trim to repaint, he found evidence of termites, and so he left the door trim off until the termites were dealt with. That was two years ago.
So Jim, being an unnaturally nice person (and I've met quite a few in this area), came by and spackled the wall, repainted the door, and replaced the molding (no easy feat considering the original molding had long been lost). He also repaired the soffits, cleaned the exterior wood, and even dusted all the cobwebs. (Did I mention they never use the den?) He worked for 3 hours in the 94 degree heat, and his shirt was soaked through. My aunt and uncle didn't thank him, because they thought I had hired him.
I also met Jim's partner, Linda, who is starting a new business called "helping hands" or "extra hands" or "extra helping hands" -- I don't really know. Barbara was complaining earlier that day that she couldn't mop the floors because it hurt her back, and so I was talking to Linda about coming once a month to help Barbara do what she couldn't. Linda was really sweet and I thought everything was fine; we just needed to pick a day, but by then Barbara had locked herself in the bedroom. Linda said she'd call to schedule it, but that nightI heard Barbara yelling at George that she kept the house clean and didn't need any help. George told her that when Linda called, he would thank her and let her know they didn't need any help. I'm sure they were trying to be clever and sneaky, but when one of them is deaf and they have to yell at each other, it doesn't always work. I haven't figured out how to handle it yet. You would think they would be grateful for my help, but they fight me every step of the way.
For example, the Barrow County Senior Center. It's an ambulatory day care facility which is funded entirely by the state, and they provide transportation, lunch, a pool table, exercise classes, etc. for free to anyone over the age of 60. It's a nice, quiet, air conditioned place to socialize for four hours, whenever they want. I discovered this on my last visit, but I needed to make an appointment to register, and they couldn't do it until the day after I left. Their friend Paul offered to drive George over but when he arrived that morning, George refused to go.
I don't take no so readily, so on Wednesday I got George signed up, but he is already telling me he won't go, because he doesn't' like talking to strangers. Which is odd, because whenever we go someplace he will spend hours talking to strangers. He is absolutely starved for contact, but at 85 doesn't really see himself fitting in with "those old farts," even though his favorite topic are his medical conditions.
His second favorite topic at the moment is "Law and Order," the TV series. That's because the USA channel plays it 24 hours a day, and they watch is 24 hours a day, although lately they've been watching the live "Casey Anthony" murder trial, as well. After the third time he tried to engage me in a serious discussion about the acting talents of one of the lead characters, I yelled at him that I didn't care about Law and Order. I must have hurt his feelings, because he's only brought it up twice since.
We also went to see the doctor, who is on a first name basis with George. It was the typical affair -- had an appointment for 11am, waited in the lobby until 12:30, saw the doctor for 10 minutes, and left with a prescription for three medications, on top of of the nine George is already taking. George, who had been complaining of his prostate for three days, suddenly became very sheepish in front of the doctor, and what had been "hurting like hell" was now "a little bothersome." The doctor was suprised to find George was no longer taking the prescription for his prostate he had previously given, and gave him another one. I suspect this is very common, as George is seeing three specialists for various problems, and no one coordinates anything. It does make you wonder how other seniors are coping.
In the evening, I took George and Barbara to celebrate their 45th wedding anniversary. We went to "Fatz Cafe," which seems unfortunately named--or possibly appropriately named--in the south, where most of the people are on the "plus" side of the scale. The very far side. I have to say, having lived in London for three years, I've really started hating coming back to America -- as soon as the plane lands, the aisles are full of loud, fat, annoying people. And the roads are full of ridiculously large vehicles either travelling at 90mph in the slow lane, or 50mph in the fast lane. And everything is a drive-through: Food, ATMs, prescriptions. Why do they still have six-acre parking lots when most people won't even get out of their car?
So that is my vacation so far. Tomorrow I have to run down to Home Depot to get some pink paint to finish the den, get back in time to set up the scrabble game, pack, go to the post office to mail a 6 oz tube of cream to my mother so I don't have to check my bag at the airport (which would cost $25!), call someone about steam cleaning their upholstery so it doesn't smell like the black lab, leave for the airport by 3 and pray I don't get stuck in traffic.
Then I've got three manic days in LA before I go to Sacramento to see my family, and it's supposed to be 97 degrees there.
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