Here Come The Sharks

Update on the lawyer situation:

Third Cousin called back and I believe we're going to hire her. What a relief! It's so good to KNOW you're dealing with a competent person. How I wish I had an inside connection to the world of medicine.

Andrew never called back.

Pamela called and I was so shocked that I nearly killed myself. I was just making a right turn out of a gas station and picked up the phone and BEEEPPP from a very huge, very angry truck that was on my bumper shook me up but good. I'm feeling tons better but one thing about Fibro is that is causes bone-deep fatigue sometimes. It comes and goes. This was one of the days it was there. I must have forgotten to look left before I turned out of the gas station. AAARRGH.

Carly had her secretary call. Three days later. Why how nice of you!! What a thrill to tell her secretary that we'd already hired somebody else. I didn't add, "and by the way, that's the last referral you're getting from me," because I'm so darn nice.

Mom called last night. She was in tears, and acknowledged that she had Alzheimer's for the first time. But she wasn't crying over that. She was crying because she was worried about her taxes. (Go figure). I reminded her that I had prepared her taxes for 10 years and that I was happy to do it again and that we would "protect and care for you." She thanked me profusely. I doubt that she is going to interpret being served with legal papers as a protective and loving gesture, but one does what one has too.

Someone emailed and suggested that we get her to sign a power of attorney. We HAVE power of attorney. But it isn't good enough. It's revokable at all times by the one granting it, and it still gives her access to her money. I visualize some scumbag showing up at her house and driving her to every bank in town until they find the ones where we've hidden her money. I clandestinely rifled through the place where she had hidden several diamond rings and they were gone, but I'm sure she has them in one of her safety deposit boxes. She likes to keep her good jewelry in her safety deposit box. That's fine. I was just worried that someone would come in and rob her.

I read some news article about an experimental treatment for memory loss where they implant electrodes in your brain in England and I'm tempted to fly her over there. The only small problems I see here are that 1. She is severely agoraphobic and 2. has no passport and 3. they aren't running any clinical trials that are open. But it's going to really hork me off if they discover The Cure ten years too late.

I faxed our POA to her Long Term Care Company on Jan 23 and requested that claim forms be mailed to me immediately. I called today. The lady said she'd be sure to get them out tomorrow. It was obvious none had been sent. Oh well. That would have been too efficient.

Now I'm starting to grieve but I feel guilty after reading Snickollet, a young widow and working mother of baby twins. And Dorcasina and my precious Miss Cellania, all young mothers and widows. I can handle losing parents, a vicious painful disease, whatever. But keep my kids and husband safe and I can take whatever comes. Please God. Please.

Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Lawyers

Medical school kid. Medical school. Computer school, Massage Therapy School, whatever, but I'll disown you if you go to Law School.

I hate lawyers. HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE lawyers. WHY didn't I become a doctor? Well, I read William Nolen's wonderful book The Making Of A Surgeon and it sounded as if you did nothing but work all night and day plus there was that whole blood and gore stuff and put the MCAT applications away. And I read F. Lee Bailey's book The Defense Never Rests and it sounded like such an exciting life. Why, he had me convinced that Sam Sheppard was innocent. (snort). Such thought I put into a career decision. Why, I agonized longer over whether or not to choose a chicken or turkey sandwich today for lunch.

My sister called. "I can't sign my name to a paper suing Mom, can you?" "No, it's killing me." "Let's hire a lawyer...um...ok...let's find one that specializes in Elder Law."

"Naw," I said. "Those are lawyers that specialize in planning huge estates so that the heirs God Forbid don't have to pay taxes like us little people. They don't know anything about conservatorships. I know lots of lawyers in Mom's county. Lemme just call a few and ask for a referral."

I called Andrew, who was Roger's best friend in high school and explained that I was Roger's wife and he didn't call me back.

I called Dan, who cried in my arms when he failed the bar exam. Ok, to be fair, I got his machine and I didn't leave a message. I'll try him tomorrow.

I called Pamela, who used to come spend the weekend at my beachfront apartment frequently in the 80s and she didn't call me back.

I called MY THIRD COUSIN and she didn't call me back.

I called several others that I have known socially for 20 years and nobody called me back.

I called Carly, and I've referred at least 5 people to Carly, and she didn't call me back and SHE IS DEAD TO ME.

I called Retta, who listened to my whole story and didn't hang up on me but had no useful advice. Thanks anyway Retta, I still like you.

Did you know that the main complaint people have about lawyers, besides the ones that steal trust funds and snort them, is that they don't return phone calls? Um, ah, eh, I hate to talk to some clients myself...

Mom called. She could not figure out how to operate the locks on her back door.

Suing Your Mommy

So you thought it couldn't get worse? With Alzheimer's, it always gets worse.

This week Mom called and told my sister--in a taped answering machine message, Thank God--because we may need to play it for the judge--that she needed to hustle to the bank to withdraw FOUR THOUSAND DOLLARS to give to the vultures who had convinced her that she had won a sweepstakes.

Four thousand dollars.

Not the mention that she had offered, once upon a time, to pay for Madeleine's violin lessons. I thought that was very nice of her. The cost is about $150 for a semester. She backed down because she didn't have the money. Now that we have access to her checking account we found out that she had the money to send $20 here and $14.95 there and $36.00 dollars there to "register" for "sweepstakes".

Funny, she had the money to send SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS to the church she belongs to. One thousand dollars went to the bishop's chair so he'd have a place to park his fat old butt when he deigned to show up for services. Five thousand dollars went for the building fund. She pledged to contribute fifteen thousand over three years. Hate to break it to you, oh mighty minister to the aged, but you won't be seeing the rest of that money if we have any say so. I did ask her why she pledged this. She said she just felt that she should.

So I'm feeling better and able to work and all (thank God) but this week was once again taken up with a round of frantic phone calls and visits to numerous banks, waving our power of attorney. We've been able to access her most used checking account and found check after check written to claim "sweepstakes prizes." This happens to be illegal. The vultures are circling, sensing easy prey. Well, I have news for them. You've plundered from the wrong people this time, vultures. We both worked at the attorney general's office for a spell and we have friends there who are working to stop this behavior. And we have copies of cashed checks which show just exactly where the money went. Some went to a place in Cherry Hill, New Jersey!

Phone calls were being made to her on a daily basis, it seems. Well, I have power of attorney. So I called the phone company and had her phone number unlisted and unpublished. But that's not enough. I pretended I was her on the phone and had it changed.

Changed. After thirty-seven years. It's still the number I'll remember when I'm old. It's still the number I dial to reach her, then jump when I hear a tone which says it's been disconnected. It's the number I automatically use whenever I'm trying out a new phone's keypad. Sometimes, when I'm tired and busy and distracted I think "I need to call home" and I will dial that number. Sometimes, after a 15 hour day, I actually find myself making the turns towards her house.

But it's gone now, buried in the bowels of the phone system. We haven't told her yet. We've contacted all of her neighbors, friends, siblings, etc. that we can think of. Tonight, when I called a friend of hers to tell her, Jeri started to cry.

Cry? It made me realize I ought to cry. But I don't have time. Neither does my sister. We have no time to process the grief. The tears will have to come later, when we have the luxury of time. Right now we're frantically trying to draw up legal papers asking to be appointed as co-conservators of her assets.

We had her mail diverted to my sister, so that's one relief right there. The "sweepstake prize offers" will stop.

And driving? Sis took her to the doctor this week and he told her to stop driving. She's already forgotten all about that visit. She was furious. She's still driving. Slowly and carefully. But I don't think you'd want to run into her on the road. We're debating about taking her car keys. Or her car. But she'll probably call the police. Where did I read that in some state, if you're officially diagnosed with Alzheimer's by a licensed physician, your driver's license is taken automatically? Would that it would be so here.

We got her key to her lock box so we could grab some of her CDs before she cashed them in. She forgot about that and showed up at the bank to report them stolen. And called her brother to tell him that two men had broken into her house to steal her lock box keys.

Does she need to be "put away"? Yes, but. If we can protect her assets and hire a home health aide to come in to help her (she'll fight that too) we'd like to keep her in her familiar environment with her adored dog. To "put her away" would require her to be taken away from her home, screaming and kicking. Kidnapping, in her eyes. Tears streaming down her aged cheeks.

Funny, I never imagined it would go down like this. I thought, wistfully, that if she descended into dementia, she'd go along with The Plan willingly.

Every day I remember how Daddy just keeled over and was gone into the arms of the angels. (One hopes). How "easy" it was. This isn't easy.

Martha Stewart Would Be So Proud

Please admire the beauty-ful table decoration that I am presenting to you today.

See, it all started when the kids found an old container of white spray paint. They decided to paint some pinecones. I looked at them and thought well, I could do worse, so I put them in a bowl on my table.

Then I noticed that Madeleine had created some works of art. What you're seeing are toothpicks held together with torn up Gummi Bear Fish Oil Vitamins that the brats refused to eat. I topped the pinecones with the artistic creations to add a little color to the table.

I suppose they managed to "inherit" the craft gene from my mother, who had a little too much spare time in the 70s and would decorate anything that would hold still. I remember her using leftover bleach bottles, spraying them with gold paint, and turning them into the tackiest angels you'd ever want to find. I remember the washing machine agitator she ripped out of an old washing machine and sprayed green. She then glued tiny ornaments to it and placed it on an old mirror and topped the mirror with some hideous looking silver tinsel and glitter. That was our Christmas tree dinner decoration.

Ah, the title of my second book. ONE HUNDRED TACKY HOME DECORATIONS. This could be the cover!

Don't It Always Seem To Go, That You Don't Know What You've Got Till It's Gone. They Paved Paradise And Put Up A Parking Lot.

Last night I dreamed...

I dreamed that I was a child again. I dreamed that I lived in a lovely suburban home with two parents who were madly in love and took awesomely good care of me and spoiled me fairly rotten and I lived a life of protected, perfect bliss.

Sort of like the way it was.

I woke up and realized that I was diagnosed with a disease that I'd be fighting for the rest of my life, my Mom is no longer with us in any recognizable form, that Monday I'd be visiting Alzheimer's units looking for a place to lock her up, my Dad is a pile of ashes under the ground, and that I had to work a job that I love but worry constantly that The Evil Disease will prevent me from doing (even though I am feeling so much better right now)...

And then I went into Meredith's room and found this...

And realized that SOMEBODY was still living the dream!! (g)

ps. That is my work laptop. She "borrowed" it.

But Love Is In The Air

But hey! Life is not all bleak. Somebody, and I'm not naming any names here, is in Love. Somebody chatted with her boyfriend for 30 minutes last night and informed me that it was the "greatest thirty minutes of her life." And asked me if it was ok if he was allowed to kiss her on the cheek. I said ok. Then she informed her father that "Mom said it was ok if Boyfriend kisses me on the cheek, and if you disagree, well, it will have to be divorce time."

Hmm. Listen here, little missy, I happen to be in love also. And if your Dad can't handle an innocent expression of young love, well, I might have to torture him a little, but I don't plan to divorce him. So just get that thought right out of your mind.

Cute Kid Picture To Cheer Me up

Life comes at you fast. So does death.

This morning I got the call that my most favorite aunt died after a long and painful struggle with Rheumatoid Arthritis. It finally got to her lungs. Fortunately she was gently eased out with a good healthy shot of morphine. I was told to call mom and tell her. I am a coward. I just could not do it.

So I stay in bed all day fielding phone calls.

Roger and my bil rushed over to mom's house to play cop today but the guy didn't show up. Apparently mom casually mentioned to him that she would have to discuss the sweepstakes win with her two daughters, who happen to be lawyers, and I guess the guy figured that it probably wouldn't be a good idea to show up.

I did call the police and they told me to call them if the guy showed up. They didn't sound very interested. You really have to have a grisly murder, preferably with a lot of interesting blood spatter, if you want to get the attention of cops.

So then I had to call mom and tell her.

"Mom, I have some bad news. Sara died this morning."

"Sara who?"

"Your sister, Sara."

She took it hard.

Last Tuesday I was feeling better and doing great and now I just want to go hide somewhere.

I find myself wishing that Daddy would just drop down out of the sky and take over. I don't want to be....the sandwich generation. I don't want to be...the grown up.

But I have to.

Just Another Day In Paradise

So yesterday I wake up and I'm all like "I don't feel well" and so I have The Achy Flu-Like Thing that is making the rounds here. And so phone calls have to be made to people who don't like to hear you're sick, like judges and stuff. Who apparently tried cases while in the throes of malaria or something and expect you to man up and do the same.

And then today my mom calls and is all excited and tells me that she just WON A MILLION DOLLAR SWEEPSTAKE award and that a gentleman is stopping by her house tomorrow to pick up her CHECK FOR ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS that she will need to give him as a down payment.

So now we have to put her in an Alzheimer's Unit. And she's going to have a fit. A "fit" is an euphemism for "screaming nervous breakdown." And Roger will have to go over to see about protecting her from this....thing...who is trying to scam an old lady.

But the good news! Is that this just freaked The Achy Flu-Like Thing out of my body and the guai is working and I'm having a lot less fibro pain. And um...well....I'll let y'all know what happens. Cross your fingers.

Thanks For All The Warnings--NOT!!!

I had to share this funny email (which ironically enough, was forwarded to me). I don't mind funny forwards, but the ones warning me of some horrible danger drive me insane.

SUMMARY OF MY LAST YEAR ON THE COMPUTER

I must send my thanks to whoever sent me the one about rat doo in the glue on envelopes because I now have to use a wet towel with every envelope that needs sealing.

Also, now I have to scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason.

I no longer have any savings because I gave it to a sick girl (Penny Brown) who is about to die in the hospital for the 1,387,258th time.

I no longer have any money at all, but that will change once I receive the $15,000 that Bill Gates/Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in their special e-mail program.

I no longer worry about my soul because I have 363,214 angels looking out for me, and St. Theresa's novena has granted my every wish.

I no longer eat KFC because their chickens are actually horrible mutant freaks with no eyes or feathers.

I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day.

Thanks to you, I have learned that my prayers only get answered if I forward an email to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes.

Because of your concern I no longer drink Coca Cola because it can remove toilet stains.

I no longer can buy gasoline without taking a man along to watch the car so a serial killer won't crawl in my back seat when I'm pumping gas.

I no longer drink Pepsi or Dr. Pepper since the people who make these products are atheists who refuse to put "Under God" on their cans.

I no longer use Saran wrap in the microwave because it causes cancer.

And thanks for letting me know I can't boil a cup water in the microwave anymore because it will blow up in my face...disfiguring me for life.

I no longer check the coin return on pay phones because I could be pricked with a needle infected with AIDS.

I no longer go to shopping malls because someone will drug me with a perfume sample and rob me.

I no longer receive packages from UPS or FedEx since they are actually Al Qaeda in disguise.

I no longer shop at Target since they are French and don't support our American troops or the Salvation Army.

I no longer answer the phone because someone will ask me to dial a number for which I will get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica, Uganda, Singapore, and Uzbekistan.

I no longer have any sneakers -- but that will change once I receive my free replacement pair from Nike.

I no longer buy expensive cookies from Neiman Marcus since I now have their recipe.

Thanks to you, I can't use anyone's toilet but mine because a big brown African spider is lurking under the seat to cause me instant death when it bites my butt.

Thank you too for all the endless advice Andy Rooney has given us. I can live a better life now because he's told us how to fix everything

And thanks to your great advice, I can't ever pick up $5.00 I dropped in the parking lot because it probably was placed there by a sex molester waiting underneath my car to grab my leg.

Oh, and don't forget this one either! I can no longer drive my car because I can't buy gas from certain gas companies!

If you don't send this e-mail to at least 47,000 people in the next 47 minutes, a large dove with diarrhea will land on your head at 5:47 PM this afternoon and the fleas from 47 camels will infest your back, causing you to grow a hairy hump. I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of my next door neighbor's ex-mother-in-law's second husband's cousin's beautician...

Have a wonderful day....AND

A scientist from Argentina, after a lengthy study, has discovered that people with insufficient brain and sexual activity read their e-mails with their hand on the mouse. Don't bother taking it off now, it's too late...

My Closets Are Cleaner Than Yours

My closet before:

I could not stand it one more second. See all the stuff on top? That's all the "scrapbooks" that I made one summer when I worked part time. (My idea of scrapbooking--shove an envelope of photos inside a plastic sleeve and write something on them). Plus there's the memory boxes for the kids (Madeleine's contains a beautiful picture on the cover and Meredith's is blank. Too bad, second kid). The blue thing is my first jewelry box which contains many interesting historic trinkets including a WIP (Whip Inflation Now) pin from Gerald Ford. The hat was given to Roger for his 40th birthday and has Death on it with the inscription "Relax, I'm just here for the cake." All in all, a terrifying mess held by sagging boards.

Now this: You can actually SEE the rocking chair that was used to rock my precious infant self instead of some MAN using it as his personal "CLOTHES THAT AREN'T DIRTY ENOUGH TO WASH YET" recepticle.

Madeleine's closet Before:

What do we have here? I hung up her Halloween ballet tutu on the curtain rod. My oh my, Martha Stewart had better concede the prize as the most tasteful person on the planet. If you look closely at the top of the closet on the right hand side you can see the 1966 Show 'N Tell that I hoped to resurrect for my kids, who I'm sure aren't like JADED or anything from the Wii that Santa brought.

I still have all my old Show N' Tell records and slides, but the light bulb burnt out. I called GE and the customer service rep chuckled and told me they didn't make light bulbs anymore for the Show N' Tell. So much for bringing good things to life, eh? However, I poked around on ebay and found somebody who sells a bulb that will work. Smashing! Ebay is the most wonderful website on the planet.

If I hadn't found out that Daddy's 50 old computers (I'm not kidding. He bought them at garage sales. He once had 9 old nasty cars. Can you say HOARDER?) weren't worth a dime by consulting ebay, I might have wasted time trying to sell them instead of hauling them to the Salvation Army, where thousands of homeless alcoholics probably found salvation through a Commodore computer. Actually, they are probably in a toxic landfill somewhere but la de da, that's my great grandchildren's problem. I'll be dead soon.

After. See the big box on top? That contains light bulbs. We're buying the new type that are saving massive amounts of energy, and I might just freecycle the whole mess of them. I cannot stand paying money to the power companies.

Meredith's closet Before:

I...I...just don't know how to convey the horror that lies before you here. First of all, Roger's clothes are in here. I, personally, have so many clothes that there is not room for them in the master bedroom. Please contain your jealously. 90% are hand me downs from my sister and late aunt (who had literally 500 outfits, and some of them fit) and the other 10% are thrift shop finds. The outfit I wore in the slide show where you get to see my hair which I swear really ISN'T ORANGE IN REAL LIFE..anyway, the outfit where I'm hugging my family lovingly while Madeleine looks snitty (Folks, the tween attitude is already here. Boarding school is looking better all the time). ANYWAY. I found the top in a thrift shop for a dollar and the bottom is a Kathie Lee Gifford skirt from Walmart that cost $10.00. I used to love her clothes because size 12 skirts always fit me perfectly. I could grab one while feeding a toddler animal crackers and a sippy cup and roll right along. Dang I miss them.

If you look carefully you can see a cross stitch, a real, genuine, lovingly hand crafted cross stitch that I bought at a thrift shop. It says "Ashley Clare Daniels, born January 14, 1987--You're so precious, you're so dear. How blessed we are to have you here" on it. I intended to rip that out and cross stitch Madeleine's name on it, but it will be great for the first grandchild, which I hope will not arrive in 7 years. Since I fully intend to inform my daughters about effective birth control and abstain from cavorting in nightclubs choosing instead to spend my time on the internet searching for effective chastity belts, I hope to avoid becoming a young grandmother, and if you are thinking that I am old enough to be a young grandmother right now and that I will certainly be an old grandmother by the time my children finish their PhDs and get MARRIED (or have a commitment ceremony), I would like to personally invite you to...oh dear, I promised my advertisers I wouldn't put any profanity on the blog.

After:

I tried to have Roger's pants cover the two old computers we have which contain the original emails we received about Madeleine's referral. It sure would be nice to pull them off of the drive but the drive had candy, pencils, crayons, and lollipops inserted in it once upon a time. No grandchild will ever get close to my computers.

So concludes my self congratulatory essay on What I Did Over My Christmas Vacation. I left out the part about sleeping 14 hours a day, watching trashy movies, and eating mountains of cookies.

2007 In Pictures

Make photo slide shows at www.OneTrueMedia.com