Where's Roseanne Rosannadanna when you need her? Yeah, I could probably find her on YouTube or some ancient SNL's on Netflix or Hulu, but one look at her face and I'm going to see Gilda Radner and grieve ... both for her and her husband, Gene Wilder.
But really, "if it's not one thing it's another." I've got myself on a finally tuned schedule of errands for today and tomorrow given that on Wednesday I hurl myself westward. I've worked so HARD at pacing myself so that there would be no last minute "whoops" ... except:
1. Today's blood draw yielded no blood. Really. She tried in eight different locales including arms, hands, and feet with nary a vial. Oh, a drop or two, but no vials. This means rescheduling for tomorrow.
2. I received a phone call from a dear friend of mine who is helping me figure out how to dispose of an estate. When my adoptive mom downsized I became the keeper of several dynasties. Great show in the 80's if one liked the opulence of the decade ... but I did not and do not. Do I want all the stuff? No. There are memories I treasure and there are those I'd just as soon never see a "prompt" for again. Do my sons and DILs want things? They've taken what they want. The games are on and an estate appraiser was just here. Yup. Things are worth shuttling to Chi-town and selling at auction. I am SO good w/that. I don't give a ... WHOA, is that my great grandmother's silverware you're taking photos of? You WHAT? HOW MUCH? But I LOVE that little rocking chair. I have a whole collection of antique children's chairs slowly acquired one by one via various family members and auctions. You don't care, huh? All that cut class; those gorgeous cut glass decanters that I imagined would someday grace my dressing table will not. And I don't even HAVE a dressing table. I was just raised to and did as a teenager. I spent over two decades keeping a watchful eye on my mother, grandmothers, and great aunt who had enviable boudoirs. They and my father promised me that someday I would marry a man who's sole purpose in life would be to cherish me and that, of course, would involve my being able to "take care of myself" while primping at a dressing table full of cut class perfume bottles. Didn't exactly work out that way. Or anything even remotely resembling it.
So. Yes, I signed a contract but, no, the van has not yet backed up to my house. The appraiser, wise woman, advised me to unpack all and "visit it" in my garage over the next couple of weeks to let my emotions ebb and flow. Great. More grieving. I know in the end it will come down to financial need. (Lyme Disease, the disease that doesn't exist, is VERY expensive to treat given that insurance companies don't believe in it despite the little fact that the CDC does. Clever system we have going on here.)
3. I got a phone call from a cousin informing me one of our relatives has taken a significant turn for the worse. Significant. So significant that the entire dysfunctional family is in a speed wobble about what to do next. Frankly, I wish for him what I wish for all ... a quick and gentle passing into that good night. Or wherever it is that Quakers go. But nothing about my birth family is quick or gentle so it's highly unlikely this death will be anything less than spectacularly prolonged, dramatic, and a cause of more feuding.
(Confused about which family is which? You're in good company. I had to make a flow chart for my counselor there are so many players. Interpret that any way you'd like to ... all definitions are applicable.)
So what DID I accomplish today?
* I inserted a new check register and have balanced my checkbook.
* I bought cat food and kitty litter for Larry's vaca with one of The Sons.
* I picked up refills of meds that need to be packed.
* I finished a very important gift for Young Sir and packed some of his father's baby clothes for him to wear.
Right now my body is SCREAMING at me: joints swollen, head throbbing. If I didn't have four more tiny chores to check of my "to-do" list I'd Just Go To Bed.
But first ... I've got some crying to do, the next hurdle of grief to jump, and some final goodbyes to say: to possessions; to dreams; and to a dear, dear brother. Brucie, I hardly knew ye.
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