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Good morning, y’all. I keep raving about the recorder, but for my situation it as much a technological advancement as Tupperware was for the housewife. I sit, walk around, lay on the sofa and just remember the events and tell them to the recorder. I just turn that recording loose here on the interwebs and there you have it. It’s magic, and I have my thoughtful wife, Mulva, to thank for it.

When we left our story, I am in Asheville to help facilitate moving Mom to an assisted living center at Mountain View. I have visited Mom and updated her condition, visited Mountain View and visited my Aunt Edna. My brain throbs as if it will explode. All of the input from my Aunt and Mom are stretching my limits. In spite of the pain, I am able to negotiate the path to Mom’s condo past the many ABC stores standing in my way. The run-in with my sister is a non stressor in one sense. You know that wherever you encounter Charlotte it’s going to be screwed up, time and place are the surprise. The encounter at Mountain View is worthy of relating to Jackson, in fact, it may be the first thing I tell him, but we knew Charlotte was going to try to shape the events to her liking. Like I said, the when and where were the unknowns.

I pull into the space at the condo and find that Jackson is already there. We hug, give each other the laugh that survivors share that eliminates the need to cry, and go inside out of the cold. The condo is still and quiet, which is refreshing. We fix a pot of coffee and I update Jackson with my visits. Jackson is particularly interested in my encounter with Charlotte and asks what possible interest she could have in inserting herself in the situation. My thoughts are that Charlotte wants to present herself as being in charge like she did when Daddy died.

When Daddy was dying he spent the last month or so in a hospice type situation here at Number Two. Charlotte moved in and promptly sent out a call to all living relatives via email for donations to Charlotte in her mission work at TackyToo. Charlotte’s emails would entreat even the most distant cousin for money to help provide Daddy with good home cooked meals. She would even give the menus and report on Daddy’s appetite when soliciting for funds. I don’t have any idea how many relatives contributed, if any, I was disgusted by the whole process. Daddy was gone within a month, and I can’t say whether Charlotte’s ministrations hastened or halted his final release. I can say that Charlotte took everything that wasn’t nailed down when she left. Daddy’s Cadillac with personalized plates moved to Asheville with Charlotte, title not included.

Charlotte had gotten herself named as executor to Daddy’s will in his final days. Jackson and I had declined, it was too much baggage for us. Charlotte took the title executor to mean “interpreter of the will”, not, “enforce what the will actually says”. I was ok with her thievery, until she starting trying to sell TackyToo. Fortunately, there is this thing called “title search” and my name popped up. At that point, Jackson and I demanded a full accounting of what Charlotte had done. The lawyer was able to stop the bleeding, and I wound up with TackyToo.

I relate this little bit of history so as to say, we know Charlotte. Unlike the frog that gives the snake a ride on his back across the pond, we know the nature of a snake is to always be a snake. We won’t be bit by this one again.

I take out a piece of paper that I had found in Mom’s stuff that was headed, “Antiquities”. I tell Jackson that this is a list of stuff that Mom thinks is important. The list also points out the relative she has earmarked to inherit the item. Charlotte and Edna are not on the list, neither are I, or Jackson. Being excluded from this list is cool with me, I truly do not appreciate Mom’s taste in art or furniture. The “Moses Coming Down the Mountain” in multi color wood that Mom secured in Israel has zero value to me. But, because it means something to Mom, I think we should plan on moving it to Mountain View. Moving the “Antiquities” to Mountain View also coincides with my view of the situation after talking to Edna. My thoughts now are that anything moved to Mountain View won’t magically disappear while Mom is there. “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure”, Mom used to say.

Jackson and I move around the condo identifying the items to take and discuss how best to pack them. We have enough space at the new spot to actually place some additional furniture besides the bedroom suit, and we decide to take Mom’s massive leather barcalounger. Mom has spent so much time sleeping in this barcalounger that it would be hard to find anything else that would make her feel more at home. We decide that it would be best to move the dressers and chest of drawers loaded, that way we can avoid handling any of Mom’s personal stuff. If Mom has any additional requests she can get Charlotte or Edna to bring them to her. Satisfied that we have a good master plan that protects the things that Mom holds the closest to her heart, we load up in Jackson’s F150 and head over to The Facility.

On the way, chunks of my “afternoon with Edna” keep popping in my mind, and one item jumps to the forefront. Edna had related that sometimes “Mountain folk just take to their beds and die, when it was their time”. I believe this philosophy was related to me in response to my question about why had Edna and Charlotte just not called the EMT’s and let them do their job when Mom refused Edna and Charlotte’s help. Edna’s, “Mountain folk”, excuse was met with derision and I queried that if Mom had been holding a gun to her head would they have called the police? Edna had ignored the question and responded that Mom’s religious views didn’t allow her to commit suicide. My response had been, “so you were ok with allowing her to commit suicide in a long painful death covered in her own filth, because it’s what “Mountain folk” do?” Edna did not have a response. I relate this exchange to Jackson as we arrive at The Facility. Clearly, we have our work cut out for us.

We get out of the car and head in to the sign in desk. I look to see if Mom’s crazy friend Ann Wallace is on the sign in sheet and I’m relieved to find her name missing from the list. I do find a curious name, Charlotte Morris. Now Charlotte appears to have appropriated Mom’s current last name to mask herself in an air of legitimacy. I walk to the director’s office to check with her. I find they are ready for the move. I’m thinking that playing security for Mom has added an extra burden for them that they don’t normally encounter. I ask the director if she had seen my sister and she said no, but that I should check in with the nurse’s station.

Jackson and I head to the nurse’s station where we find that a woman that identified herself as Charlotte Morris, power of attorney for Hannah Morris, had been by earlier seeking Mom’s psych evaluation. Fortunately, we live in the age of computers. The nurses were able to quickly look at Mom’s records and not find anyone named Charlotte that was supposed to get access to Mom’s chart. I asked the nurse if Charlotte had visited with my Mom and they replied that she had not. So, right after I left visiting Mom, Charlotte arrives demanding to see Mom’s chart. Being denied, she heads to Mountain View rather than staying and visiting with Mom. To my knowledge she has still not visited Mom since her hospitalization.

Jackson and I find Mom sitting in her chair in her room attempting to read a book. I say attempting because I’m not at all sure she was doing anything other than giving the appearance of a normal activity. She is all smiles when she sees the both of us. We have to arrange things a bit to get everyone sitting and facing one another. Mom gets the bed, Jackson gets the chair, and I get the seat that folds out from Mom’s walker. It will be a short stay, and the seat is not the most uncomfortable element of the visit. Pleasantries are exchanged all around and Mom is like the cat that swallowed the canary. Jackson’s query to Mom regarding her physical condition is met with the news that Mom’s height is just perfect for her weight. When asked to explain, Mom related how they came in every day and took her vitals and wrote them all down in the chart. When they took her vitals today she was 5 feet 6 inches tall, which was the perfect height for her weight of 157 pounds. Jackson was unable to argue with that logic and turned his attention to Mom’s fuschia blanket.

“I see you’ve still got your pink blanket,” Jackson commented.

“Yes, Edna gave it to me, it’s real nice”, Mom responded. We waited for the loop to continue like it had at the hospital, but it didn’t.

“How’s your tooth?”, Jackson asked.

“It’s better now, but I guess I still need to go to the dentist”, Mom replies, “I guess Mountain View will have a dentist”.

I jump in, “No, actually they will use all of your doctors and dentists.” “I’ve already put everything on file for them”, “You’ll get to ride in their limo to your appointments and some one will wait for you and carry you back home”. “The only change will be your pharmacy, which they’ll use one closer to Mountain View”.

Mom reflects for a moment and says, “But South Asheville Pharmacy has all of my prescriptions.”

“You’ll be getting all new prescriptions from the Doctor at Mountain View and whatever your personal doctor wants to add to it”, I say, “that way they can be sure of what your taking and don’t misdiagnosis something because of an unknown chemical.”

There probably won’t be a better spot for opening the conversation about the events of Mom’s near death experience, so I plunge right in. “Mom, I need to fill in some of the blanks I have about when you got sick and how we all wound up here”.

Mom tries to divert,”why son, don’t you know how you got here, you’re in worse shape than I am”.

I give her her laugh and continue on, “when we talked on Saturday morning before you got sick, you didn’t complain that anything else was going on”. “When did you start feeling so bad?”, I ask.

Mom thinks for a second and replies,”That afternoon I got this terrible headache over my ear, and I thought I was having a stroke”.”I called Charlotte to see if she would come spend the night with me but her phone was off the hook”.”You know how she is, if you’re dying on the Sabbath don’t call”. While I don’t doubt Charlotte and Edna deserved a day off, I’m curious why no one could respond to the messages left on their phones until the next day.

“So no one came to check on you until Sunday?”, I ask.

“Yes, after church they came over and Edna tried to get me to eat some soup”, “Charlotte kept trying to give me this home remedy, blackberry extract, and I finally had to tell her to get that damn stuff out of my face”. “Charlotte kept picking at me and I finally just told her what Aunt Ida told her daughter-in-law”.

Oh Jesus, I think, the Aunt Ida story. It is one of the great Momisms that bear repeating. It seems that Aunt Ida was supposed to have been a full blooded Cherokee who lived with her son and his wife on a little plot of land near where the Hiwassee Dam is now constructed. As everyone knows, it is impossible to have two women in control of the same house and there was constant turmoil. One day the daughter-in-law says loud enough to be heard, “I can’t wait until you die”, and Aunt Ida responds with,”I’ll eat the goose that eats the grass on your grave and clean the knife and fork”.

I guess Aunt Ida cleared the air with that one, as apparently Mom did with Charlotte. Charlotte had not been around Mom since. I know that Mom has said many hateful things to Charlotte before, and vice versa, I’m just curious as to why this dust up was so “final”, if you will.

I push ahead, “Mom, do you know what blackberry extract does?”, I ask, and then answer for her, “it’s a diuretic”. “Can you think of why someone would want to give a diuretic to someone suffering from a severe bladder infection?” “I mean, everyone knew you had another bladder infection, right?”

“Well, I’m not sure what anybody knew and when they knew it”, she responds and starts to cloud up, “I was so happy that I had both my boys here with me at the same time and you’re using the visit to give me the third degree”.

“I’m not trying to upset you Mom, I’m just trying to figure out why everybody is acting the way they’re acting”, I continue, “Did you know Charlotte was here today trying to get access to your chart?”

“Charlotte was here today?”, Mom says,”she didn’t come see me.”

“I don’t think she wanted to see you Mom, I think she just wanted to see your chart so she could send out one of her email blasts to all of the kinfolk about how sick you are and how much they will need to contribute to Charlotte to keeping you going”, I forge ahead, “she used the name Charlotte Morris today and also with the home owners association to try to act as your power of attorney”.

“But she’s not my power of attorney, you are, backed up by Jackson”, Mom looks thoroughly confused, “why would she do that?”

“I don’t know Mom, all of her actions are crazy, even for her, and I’m afraid that Edna is so scared of her she doesn’t dare oppose her”. Mom is now fiddling with her fuschia blanket and I can see that I’ve overloaded the circuits. I change the subject by handing Mom her list of “Antiquities” and start the conversation about was this still a good list, etc. Mom complained that she couldn’t focus and I take the list back and go down it with her. Mom feels compelled to tell a story about every item and the decision making involved with matching the right heir to the item. We finally make it through the list and I assure Mom that Jackson and I are doing our best to protect Mom’s assets.

Mom asserts again that we can sell the condo and anything in it if we need to and I assure her again that we won’t need to. I relate again that she has not received a hospital bill from either Memorial Mission or The Facility, “thank you President Obama”, and that when the empty apartment is rented we will have money left over.

Mom seems relieved and then heads the cart off the path with, “You know, there was a time when folks would go to live with a relative for their final days”. Well, Jackson and I have been waiting for this shoe to drop since she went in to the hospital and Jackson is quick to respond.

“You know that’s just not possible Mom”, he says, “you need specialized medical attention that we can’t provide”, “we’re getting old ourselves and we both live out in the country away from the services you need, it just wouldn’t work out”.

I chime in with,”Mom, years ago you were farsighted enough to plan for the day when you might need care but your children might be unable to care for you, that day is here”, I continue,”I’m just really proud of how well you’ve planned for your future and how much easier it has made it for me”.

Mom breathes a sigh and says, “I guess you’re right, years ago Mountain View was my first choice”, she says, “I guess I should have bought my condo there, oh well.”

Our business concluded with the arrival of the supper tray. Hugs all around and we tell Mom we’ll see her tomorrow after the move. Jackson and I head to what we hope will be a good meal at a fish place we’ve heard about. Turns out, it is just what the doctor ordered. We stop at the Walmart on the way to the condo and buy some sports drinks and other non-perishables. A few minutes of TV preceded our calls home to our better halves. A short time later, and the brothers Lite are off to sleepy town. What a day.

More later.

 

Good morning, y’all. My recording device is killer. I can’t make it any plainer. Mulva is one smart cookie for getting it for me. I would never be able to get everything from my head onto the computer in the time frame allotted to me here at TackyToo. At some point, the frustration would overwhelm a poor soul like me.

When we left off yesterday, I had just visited Mom in The Facility in preparation for her move to a long term assisted living center. On the way to the condo, I decide I have enough time to address another issue before meeting up with Jackson. I’m not usually one for diverting from a plan, but I felt this one was warranted. I decided to head to West Asheville to visit the number two witch in the coven, my aunt Edna. As always, she greets me profusely. Edna is not alone, she has in her company a young man in his early twenties named Chris Coe. Chris is the famous cleaner extraordinaire I’ve been hearing so much about. Edna has just fixed Chris a snack and he retires to the kitchen, within earshot, to eat.

I launch right into Edna, basically addressing the thirty emails a day I’m receiving that concern the condo, and not Mom’s condition. I point out that the only questions about Mom’s condition revolve around the psychiatrist’s report and “how crazy is Mom?”. Edna kind of just looks away. I try a different angle.

“Look, I know everybody is scared of Charlotte, I get it”, I start, “but this is the chance to get Mom someplace nice that will be able to take care of her right up to the end”. “What’s the problem”, I ask, “why am I getting all of this crazy crap from Charlotte?”

Edna hems and haws and mutters that they do need the garbage key so they can clean up the condo and not have to carry the garbage back home with them.

“Jesus”, I retort, “I told you I’ve already done that”. “All of the expired food, all of the expired medicines, the whole refrigerator, is clean”, I say, “Jackson and I will vacuum after we get the furniture moved and clean the bathrooms.”

“Well, I was thinking Chris could come over and clean, he’s real thorough like Grandma Lowe was”, Edna replies.

Of course my brain hears, “I’d like to throw the pool boy some work and have your Mom pay for it”. Instead, my mouth says, “Does he help you all on a regular basis?”

Edna replies that he helps her and Charlotte on a regular basis. I take the opportunity to say, “maybe he can help you get the upstairs apartment ready for rental”.

“That apartment is not going to rent furnished”, she objects, “people want to bring their own furniture to a place in that price range”. 

“Fine”, I reply, “tell perspective tenants that it will come either way, first deposit determines whether the apartment is furnished or not.” I can tell by the look in her eyes that my solution is not what they were shooting for.

“The apartment will not show as well with that furniture in it”, she goes on, “we should clean it out first.” I am completely satisfied with my solution and stick to my guns. Edna tries another avenue of attack.

“We were hoping you’d take one of the bedroom sets from the apartment for your Mom to use at Mountain View”, she states.

Ah, the use of the word, “we”, now we’ve got a conspiracy. The heat rises in my ears and in my whispering yell I respond, “I’ve just about goddamn had it with this furniture moving business. Are you all so retarded that you can’t see that the best chance for having Mom accept the move to Mountain View is if she is surrounded by her favorite things?”

Chris Coe has now moved into the room. I speculate if he is thinking of laying hands on an old man. At that point, I hope so. I keep him in the corner of my eye while I continue on with Edna.

“I don’t know what kind of bull crap you and Charlotte are conjuring up, I hope it’s all Charlotte, but in case it’s not, let me state in front of a witness, if you all don’t like what I’m doing I can have the ambulance bring her right back here to that empty apartment you want to give her the furniture from.” I continue, “if that happens, I’m done, and I suspect Jackson and Maggie will be done as well”. “If you and Charlotte want to control everything, fine, you won’t see me again until the autopsy.”

Well, Edna is gulping now like a bullfrog on a warm Summer’s night.

“No, no, no, that’s not what I’m saying at all”, she replies, “it’s just that your Mom has made promises to Charlotte, and she’s been so mean to Charlotte, and Charlotte has been so hurt by how your Mom has treated her”.

“And what, now is the time for Charlotte to be compensated?”, I continue on, “have you all lost sight of the fact that Mom is still above ground?”  “Mom nearly died, but she didn’t, and the law says you can’t inherit until she’s dead, no matter how inconvenient that is for Charlotte”.

“I just think Charlotte is so tired of being cold all Winter over there in that basement apartment, she doesn’t think that the condo should go to waste”, Edna says. Well that opens up two topics for me.

“Mom told me today that I could sell the condo if I needed the money to pay her way at Mountain View”, I say. Edna’s eyes pop open like the eyes on a “Sleepy Time” baby doll. Edna sputters for a response and I give her a second before I save her.

“I think it’s way to early to be making that decision”, I say, “we don’t know how much cognition Mom is going to regain.” I continue on, “I just want the condo to be exactly like Mom left it, if she does come back home. It’s going to be very sad for everybody if it looks like the buzzards have picked it over”.

Edna recovers a bit and says, “I keep telling Charlotte she just needs to calm down, but she just can’t, she gets so cold over there in that basement”.

“Well, she can move out if she’s so unhappy”, I say, “she should be able to afford a warm apartment in a complex some where”. “That brings me to another point, now that I’m thinking about it”, I plunge on, ” I don’t know that Charlotte can afford to live in the condo anyway.” “There’s a host of fees and assorted other things that are included in her rent here that are out of pocket at the condo”. “It would be real sad to let Charlotte move in to find out she can’t afford it”.

Edna seems confused as the dickens by this twist of the conversation, and can only respond with, “she can afford it”. 

“Well, I’d like to be sure that she can make it in the condo on her own without assistance from Mom before I’d entertain the idea of her moving in.”, I say, “Besides, we may be just speculating anyway, Mom could be back home in ninety days”.

“I think we should wait at least ninety days before making any new arrangements”, I continue, “Mom’s doctor tells me that the next ninety days will be real important in figuring out how far back Mom’s going to come.”

Lights flutter behind Edna’s eyes and she asks,” what did the doctor tell you was wrong with your Mom?”

“You mean besides the dehydration, bladder infection near death experience she had?”, I retort, “Or are you after her mental diagnosis?”

“Well, I guess I keep hearing about a psychiatrist exam and I’m curious what they said”, she continues, “Hannah always said to never let anyone evaluate her but Dr.Vinny Boomba over in Hendersonville, he’s the only psychiatrist your Mom trusts”.

It is an interesting bit of news that Mom has a psychiatrist, always thought she needed one, just never heard she was seeing one. For a person who could wax eloquently at great length describing her exploits in the bathroom, Mom was silent about mental issues. Interesting news. “What do you think is wrong?”, I ask.

“Dementia”, she says.

“Severe”, I reply, “but if her cognition comes back and she gets better physically, she may be ok for home health care at the condo”,”we just really need to get through the next ninety days to see”. Edna seems to understand.

“I need to talk about the property,”, I say.

“I don’t want to be involved anymore”, she responds.

“Will you watch it until I can get a management company to look at it?”, I ask. She says, “yes”, but then goes on to relate, yet again, the apartment is going to be hard to rent, particularly furnished. I ask if I can see what we’re talking about and we head next door to inspect the site. The apartment is two bedrooms with a spacious living room, small office, and a small kitchen and bath. I can easily see how two students at AB Tech might think $400 a month a piece was a great deal. I can also see two students needing the furniture. I sense something is out of sync, but Jesus, what wasn’t out of sync in this situation? We head back to Edna’s. I ask if Edna will be available to walk the management company through, or should I ask Maggie to step in. Edna is happy to not involve Maggie and I say fine. I relate again that the first deposit check determines whether the unit is furnished or unfurnished and Edna is reminded of something.

“Lucinda would like that front bedroom set and I’d like the daybed from the office if you’re just going to put them in storage”, she states.

“Anything else?”, I ask.

“Well, maybe”, she replies, “I haven’t asked Lauren or any of her kids if they need anything”, she replies, “they’ve all been real good about helping your Mom over the years”.

“Ok, fine”, I reply, “if you can get $800 for the apartment unfurnished, I’m happy to have relatives pick it over and give the rest to the Salvation Army.”

What a relief to have people just being honest with each other. Edna wants to reward all of her progeny with the spoils of Mom’s hard work. Maybe Edna feels that their gratitude will be her reward. Who knows? I say my goodbyes and feel like I’ve nailed down some of my issues, confirmed some of my suspicions, and opened up some new items. I head over to the condo to meet up with Jackson before our visit with Mom. I need to do at least a partial brain dump to someone with good sense before I become crippled myself. The Golden Girls suffer from some sort of symbiotic psychosis, and I am poorly equipped to unravel their ball of twine. No wonder Freud had a cocaine problem.

More later.

Good morning, y’all. My recording device is a life saver. The recorder lets me take a day’s worth of thinking, and about 3 days worth of typing and reduce it down into a file I can download and then clean up in my standard allotment of computer time here in the Rec room. I may run a little long with today’s entry, but since it’s Sunday, maybe no one will notice.

When we left the story yesterday, I am in Asheville, North Carolina visiting my Mom in The Facility, a rehab facility. I am on a weekend pass from the Union County jail for the purpose of moving Mom into the Mountain View assisted living facility. I’ve just finished visiting Mom and I am heading down the hill to Mountain View, which is less than two miles away.

I pull into the driveway and follow the winding blacktop to the top of the mountain where the main facility is located. It is a very country club like atmosphere with the club house in the middle and the apartments and condos arranged in a U shape around the back of the club house. I am shocked at the spectacular grounds. Everything is very well maintained, even now, in the dead of Winter. The club house faces the most gorgeous view of the mountains you can imagine with nary a trailer or shanty to diminish the view. I imagine the view from the condos must be breath taking. I enter the clubhouse and find out from the information desk that I am in the wrong spot, I should have turned off halfway up the mountain for the assisted living facility. I sneak a peek in the four star restaurant, where diners are encouraged to “dress” for dinner, before leaving. I turn around and head back down the blacktop that I assume provides an excuse for tardiness on every snow day to the employees. I turn into the assisted living parking lot and make my way to the lobby.

First impressions stay with us the longest I guess, and I am immediately struck by the quality of the furniture in use. It is not your basic industrial furniture, this is the good stuff. To my right is the community TV room where they are arranging the chairs for a showing of  “Gone With The Wind”. To my left is the reception desk, a small office and a conference room. Straight ahead is a lobby filled with Seniors who are being served coffee, tea and pastries by the help. I take a seat against the wall of the community room and wait for someone to notice a visitor. Several residents notice me and point me out to Barb, who finishes her duties and comes over to greet me. I tell her who I am and she very pleasantly tells me that that everything is a “go”. They’ve already assigned Mom her room, and even setup her mail box. She asks if I’d like to see the room, and I certainly do.

We walk down a hall on a very thick rich carpet, past walls decorated with large paintings and crown mouldings, and past alcoves set aside as game/puzzle rooms or book cases filled with books. All of the furniture is heavy, baroque, good stuff. Mom’s room is near the end of the hall on the left. The hall continues on to a glass door which I can see leads out to a patio area.

They have indeed put up a little mailbox next to Mom’s door with her name on it. The room has the same crown mouldings as the hall, but the carpet has changed to a more utilitarian version. Still very attractive, nicer than I’m used to, just not as nice as the hall. The room is about twelve by fourteen with big windows looking out onto the grounds and mountains behind. There is cable and internet already wired in, and the only thing missing is Mom’s furniture. The bathroom is large, completely handicap enabled with call buttons above the toilet and in the shower. There is a place for Mom to put her laundry and Barb explains that they come by once a day to pick up laundry, which they try to return the same day. Barb asks if Mom needs anything special that I don’t see, and, I truly can’t think of a thing.

Barb takes me back to the main lobby and we turn left to go to the dining hall. Mom will get her three squares here, or they can be delivered to her room if Mom is not feeling well. On the far side of the dining hall is a separate room with vending machines and a seating area, sort of like a sun room. To our left is an exit that leads out onto a big green space that has several raised planting beds already to go. Barb explains that everyone is encouraged to garden, and asks if Mom likes to garden. I reply that she does and I am hopeful this will be a factor in “grounding” Mom to Mountain View. We return to the lobby and the director, Suzanne, has arrived. Barb turns me over to Suzanne and we go into the conference room to fill out paperwork.

Suzanne is a young person, late 20’s I’d say, but she seemed to be totally dedicated to making Seniors feel comfortable. She asks a ton of questions and I try to walk the razor’s edge of telling the truth and not scaring them off from allowing Mom to stay there. I fill out the financials, write the check for first and last month, and gently explain that I’ll be hard to reach for a few months, but that Jackson was always available.

When Suzanne leaves the room to make a copy of everything for me, she hands me a copy of a long formal questionnaire. I’m guessing psychologists spent a lot of time on that puppy. Some of the questions were, “what did Mom like to do for fun (I didn’t say torture people), what did she do to stay busy (I didn’t say torture people), where had she traveled, what religion was she and on and on and on. I did the best I could with it. Again, I am mindful that I wanted to get Mom in here, and not be blackballed from all facilities in the Western North Carolina area. As Suzanne returned to the room I heard her tell someone that she would be right with them, and then we continued our discussion.

Suzanne was interested in placing Mom with the right people at dinner and lunch. She explained to me how important it was that Mom make friends with people that had similar backgrounds. I softly explained that Mom relied on family more than friends, but if she could come up with some people that Mom could bond with, it would be great. I broached the sad fact that Mom’s current friends, and some of her family, were only interested in Mom for her money. I explained that one relationship had gotten so bad that I had looked in to getting the person declared a predator. Suzanne acted appropriately concerned and explained how they helped the residents manage their cash, while also allowing the residents to feel independent. I told her I was impressed, and that somewhere down the road we’d setup a “house” account for Mom.

Suzanne asked about Mom’s favorite books and movies and I told her I thought it was an omen that they were showing “Gone With the Wind” in the TV room. I didn’t explain to her that I had always attributed Scarlet O’Hara’s famous quote in the movie as Mom’s personal mantra:

“As God is my witness, as God is my witness they’re not going to lick me. I’m going to live through this and when it’s all over, I’ll never be hungry again. No, nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill. As God is my witness, I’ll never be hungry again.”

Mom had always struck me as “money first” over every other consideration. I guess between her and Daddy there was sort of a balance presented to us kids, but it would have been better if they weren’t on opposite poles of the argument.

Suzanne scooped everything up for me into a neat catalog folder and I was ready to go. She confirmed that moving day was Tuesday the third. I said that I had to head back to Nunsuch, but that Jackson and his daughter would be there to handle the transition. Suzanne responded that they were ready to go today, so if that worked better for me, they were available. I thanked her, but said we’d planned on doing the furniture Saturday and Sunday. I explained that The Facility had agreed to keep her until we got the room ready. She said no problem, that they worked with The Facility all of the time, so if we needed to make any changes they would accommodate us. She asked if I had made the moving arrangements and I told her that Jackson and I were going to do the move ourselves. She offered the card of a mover that worked for them “all of the time”, if my plans changed. I thanked her and got up to leave. I stopped dead in the doorway due to a near stroke.

Sitting in the lobby guest chair, under a sparsely sprouted patch of purple hair, was my sister, Charlotte. Charlotte was dressed up like she was going to church. She is made up like Mimi from the “Drew Carey Show”. I can’t recall now if she was wearing a fur around her neck, or if her coat had a fur collar. I just remember spikey purple hair on a field of makeup set in a bed of fur.

“Hey bro”, she chimed out.

Feeling the heat rising in my ears, I did remarkably well to respond, “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I’ve been over visiting Mother and she said she was moving here, so I wanted to see what it looked like”, Charlotte purrs sweetly.

“Oh”, I respond, but my mind is thinking, you didn’t visit for long because I just left there and I didn’t see you.

“They’ve already got Mom assigned a room, maybe they can take you to see it”, I say.

I look at Barb and she picks up on the cue and offers to show Charlotte around. When they get out of ear shot I tell Suzanne that under no circumstances is she to discuss pricing with my sister. I explained to Suzanne that Charlotte was one of the people solely interested in Mom for her money and that if she thought that Mountain View might adversely effect her inheritance she’d work to confuse Mom. Suzanne assures me that they will keep everything confidential and I thank her profusely.

I leave Mountain View wondering if Charlotte knows my next destination. Have the Witches of West Asheville conjured up a vision that details my weekend plans, and, out of a desperation to maintain their coven, plotted to thwart my attempts to get Mom professional help? Currently, I’m headed to the condo to make some phone calls and await Jackson’s arrival from Chattanooga. I’ll update him on the way to our visit with Mom about Charlotte’s latest escapade. I’m sure he’ll be amused.

More later.

 

Good morning, y’all. My recording device is an absolute life saver and it seems to be working very well. I was able to download and translate my story yesterday in about eighteen minutes. I overstepped my time by three minutes, not bad. The widow Ferguson can just hold her water. She just looks at pictures of cats on the computer, anyway.

When we left the story yesterday, I have gotten a “weekend pass” from the Union county jail to move my Mom to the Mountain View assisted living facility in Asheville, N.C. Now, we have fudged the story a little bit to the Union county folks, I won’t be there on moving day. The move is scheduled for Tuesday, February 3 and I will be returning to lockup on Sunday the 1st. My hope is that I can at least visit Mom a couple of times and provide some support to Jackson. There are a few odds and ends business wise I want to clear up if I can before returning to lockup. I’m hoping no one cares about the prevarication as long as I show back up at the appointed time. I’m assuming the time will be added to my sentence anyway, so I don’t think the county is going to get shorted any of my roadwork skills.

Mulva meets me in front of the jail at 6AM on Friday, January 30th. We get fast food for breakfast, and head back to Number Two for a quick visit while I throw some things together. A hug and a kiss goodbye, and I point the Trans Am towards Asheville. It is cold and threatening snow. Getting snowed-in in Asheville is a great concern and I don’t want to think about the implications. I am hoping for a Blitzkrieg trip and I hope we are as successful as the Germans marching into Poland. We’re going to need a lot of luck.

I arrive in Asheville and head over to the Facility to visit with Mom. Mom looks much improved from the last time I saw her in Mission Memorial. Her color is good and she can move around her room pretty well. She can go to the bathroom unassisted and that is a big check-mark for her long term care. Her cognition is better, but a long way from where she was at Thanksgiving. She does not remember me being with her at Memorial Mission, or says she doesn’t.

As I’ve pointed out, Mom is one of the great manipulators. Machiavelli trained under Mom. Mom saying something, and it being true, are just a guess. Mom’s strongly held religious beliefs allowed lying if a “greater purpose” was served. Mom was the one who determined the “greater purpose”. Years ago, Jackson and I started comparing Mom’s stories that were related to us in our weekly phone calls to her. We tried to see if we could come to a consensus on where the truth lie. She could be deathly ill to one of us and headed out the door going to Home Depot to the other. Mom’s story was molded to extract the desired result from the right audience.

So did Mom think I had just abandoned her, or was she just trying to make me feel guilty? Your guess. I looked about the room and saw lots of flowers and cards and food. I took the opportunity to ask how Mom’s appetite was, and she related that the food was pretty good. “Except when they let the Mexicans in the kitchen”. I questioned this, and Mom said at least once a week that they let Mexicans come in and cook the food, and she didn’t like it, it was too spicy. I figured it wasn’t worth pointing out that the “Mexicans” were probably cooking every day, they just served a Mexican meal once a week for variety.

I asked about her tooth and inquired as to when she was going to get it taken care of. She responded that the swelling had gone down and that it didn’t really hurt unless she ate something sweet. I asked if it was the same tooth that had bothered her at Thanksgiving and she replied that it was. I inquired as to why she didn’t got to the appointment that was scheduled for the week after Thanksgiving. She said she cancelled that one because she didn’t want to go. I asked, “why didn’t you want to go?”

In a completely unguarded moment, Mom responded, “because they’ll have to put me to sleep to take the tooth out and I’m scared I might not wake back up”. Well, hell, just when you have all of your defenses up and are able to shoulder through the maze of emotions, Mom goes and reveals a human trait. In spite of all of her, “ready to dance on those streets paved of gold”  bravadacio, Mom is scared to die. At least dying in a dentist chair. We all know her preferred method is reaching for the refrigerator door like Aunt Sudy.

I am momentarily flustered and look about the room for relief. I notice the TV is not on, which is an absolute necessity for Mom. Mom watches TV non-stop, as loud as it can go. I’m surprised she hasn’t received complaints from her condo neighbors she plays the set so loud, and all night. Maybe she has but didn’t hear them banging on her door.

Mom was recommended for a hearing aid years ago but has refused. I think her refusal is equal parts admitting she’s getting older, and a fear that she’ll be less attractive wearing a hearing aid. No amount of discussion has been able to get her to change, so we’ve all given up. You can imagine what visits are like when she wants to watch “Pawn Stars” at full volume and then has to turn it down so her visitor doesn’t have to yell over the show. I don’t think yelling has an impact though, I think Mom has been lip reading for years, or just missing what’s being said.

“Mom, you’re not watching TV”, I say.

“I can’t, it makes me dizzy”, she replies.

“Well, are you keeping up with what’s going on, are you reading the papers?”, I ask.

“No, I haven’t read a paper since going into Memorial Mission”, she says. 

I look around the room for other topics of interest. Mom breaks the silence by asking for her lotion in her bedside table drawer. I open the drawer to find the lotion, several bags of hard candy, a can of tomato soup, and a can of Vienna sausages. I hand Mom the lotion and say, “Mom, how did you get a can of soup and a can of Vienna sausages?”.

“Edna brought them to me”, she replies.

“Why, aren’t they feeding you well enough here?”, I inquire.

“I don’t know why, I guess she just was trying to be helpful”, she answers.

“Well, I can see the Vienna Sausages, maybe, they at least have a pop top”, I reply, “How did she figure you were going to get the can of soup open?”, I ask.

“I guess she didn’t”, Mom replies. “Look at how swollen my feet are”.

I am momentarily diverted from Mom’s secret cache of food to her feet, which I guess was her plan. I use the opportunity to remind Mom that walking will help her get her swelling down and that she should take every opportunity to use the physical therapy people to help her get stronger. Well this sends Mom into “pitiful mode”.

“No one wants to get better any more than I do”, Mom wails. “I just don’t like people making me do something on their time”, she continues, “I don’t want people getting me up when I don’t want to get up just so they can cross something off their ‘little chart'”.

I try to soothe her by agreeing that we all know she wants to get better and I remind her that I was the one that notified the nurses that she didn’t have to do PT if she didn’t want to. Mom calms down and gets in the last word.

“I just don’t want anyone to think I’m slacking off”, she retorts.

“No one will ever think you slacked off, Mom”, I reply.

She smiles and rearranges herself in the bed. She still has her fuschia blanket from the hospital. I’m about to comment on the blanket when the lunch people come in. They are very nice and condescending to Mom. They even ask me if I want a tray. I defer to a cup of coffee. As I watch Mom pick at her meal, I notice she is basically moving the main course around and then going after the dessert. I let her get in a couple of bites of the strawberry short cake before asking her, “I thought sweets hurt your tooth?”

Mom gives it a pause, and then replies, “Well, this isn’t too sweet”. She then gives me that look of “what are you up to?” and retorts, “When did that become your concern?”

“Well, it became my concern when you started raising hell with everybody about a tooth that you won’t get fixed”, I continue on, “you’ve got a drawer full of hard candy and you’ve passed on your main course for dessert, I’m just wondering if it still hurts”.

Pitiful Mom returns and she goes into the voice, “oh son, you can’t imagine the pain”,”at night I can just feel the poison draining down that side into my shoulder, and when I get up the next day I can’t even move my arm it’s so sore from that poison draining into it”. 

“Oh, ok”, I respond, “you do know the pain went away because of the antibiotics, right?” “You know that unless you get the tooth removed that the abscess is going to come back, right?”

Mom starts to cloud up, “Well I don’t want to talk about that now, I don’t know why you want to ruin a visit by telling me what I should and shouldn’t do”. Mom whines, “this place is full of people trying to tell me what to do every minute of the day, I don’t need my family coming in and trying to bully me around”

“I’m not trying to bully you Mom, I’m trying to get you healthy so you can take care of your self again, that’s what you want, right?’, I ask. She nods her head in agreement. We have avoided the full on waterworks for now and so I press ahead with, “Mom, I need to talk some business with you”.

Her face perks up and she says, “What?”.

“You know you need to move from here to a better situation for your condition right?”,

“Yes”, she responds.

“You know you’re moving to Mountain View, right”,

“Yes” she responds, “you know I looked at their condos when I bought my condo”, she continues, “I just thought it might be a little far for Edna and Charlotte to travel, but I love the area.”

“That’s great, Mom, I didn’t know you had looked there, I’ve heard it’s beautiful”. I plunge ahead, “I’ve looked at your finances and I have just one suggestion, you need to rent the upstairs apartment that you’ve been holding out for “family visitors”.

She looks a little perplexed, but responds, “I guess that wouldn’t be that close to Mountain View for folks coming to visit me, so ok”. “What else?”, she asks.

“That’s the big one”, I reply, “you’ve done a really good job of securing yourself financially, and if we add the rent from that apartment to what’s already coming in, you’ll have Mountain View covered plus some leftover”.

Then, out of the blue, Mom gives me the stunner, “you can sell the condo if you need to”.

I’ve never broached the topic of selling the condo with Mom because selling the condo would be the end of  Mom’s independence. “We’re not there yet”, I respond, “let’s get you moved into Mountain View and continue working on your rehabilitation and see how things go.”

Mom looks kind of quizzical and responds, “Well I just wanted you to know it’s ok if you need to, there’s no point in keeping the lights on in two places if you don’t have to”.

I reply that I’ll keep that option in my back pocket and start making moves to head out. I tell Mom that Jackson and I will try to come back by later and I leave her with a big grin on her face.

More tomorrow.

Good morning, y’all. My recording device seems to be working very well and I was able to download and translate my story yesterday in my alloted fifteen minute time slot. There are a few issues with the software not speaking “Southern”, but according to the package, it will get smarter as time goes on. I hope I do too.

When we left off yesterday, I’m in my first week of serving time, Mom’s in her third week of rehab, and everybody else is fretting about us. Mulva comes to see me every day and brings me the latest emails from my idiot sister Charlotte. The folks at the jail allow me to write my responses on a legal pad for Mulva so she can respond back to the tribe in Asheville. From the tone of the emails, Mom is just being herself and the “Golden Girls” are trying to figure out their best position in the new reality. The new reality is that Mom is being controlled rather than her controlling everybody.

I forgot to mention before, that when I got all of Mom’s financial stuff back to TackyToo, it took me three solid days of going through the trash bags of records to get them sorted. Three full 40 gallon trash bags reduced down to one average pendaflex file box. Those files were sorted by payee, and chronologically for everything Mom had of consequence. I did have a second box filled with blank checks. Mom had literally thousands of checks. I guess she had a fear of running out of checks before she ran out of money. Most of us have the reverse phobia.

Anyway, while I was getting Mom’s finances in order, I set up bill pay for her monthly items and setup a transfer from her rental account to her everyday account to keep it funded. Mom had some bizarre charges on her debit card and her Walmart card that looked out of the ordinary to me. I also happened to notice that the only people who got Christmas checks were Edna, Charlotte and Lucinda. The signatures looked legitimate enough, so I let it go. It did look like Mom was buying groceries for more than one person, and maybe that’s ok. It did establish in my mind an ongoing dependency that Charlotte and Edna had for Mom’s cash.

Since Jackson had taken Mom’s purse and hidden all of Mom’s credit cards, and I had confiscated all of Mom’s checks and bank information, we felt like we had covered the bases in case someone was trying to take advantage of Mom. We certainly knew Ann Wallace was a bad apple. I was now starting to think there might be more suspects. Emails like the following one from Charlotte could be construed a multiple of ways:

I had the thought just before or right after I spoke with Maggie yesterday about where Mother’s purse is, that perhaps, rather than wanting her Driver’s License for ID in “case there is a tornado out there so someone could identify her” that may have been a ploy to get some money so she could call at taxi cab to come get her. I am going to have to start screening her phone calls and letting them roll over to my voice mail.  So many of them are very pitiful and tear at my heart strings.
Charlotte

This email had been entitled “Mom’s mental health”, don’t know why. Following along behind was this email:

Do you know at this time who has keys to the condo?  I do, since my name is on the Original Deed. Mother told Maggie to make keys the morning just before Mother went to the doctor and then to Mission on Dec. 31. Edna told me she does not have keys. So, do you? Jackson? or who else might have keys that you can think of?
Yes, we may get some ice or snow.
Charlotte

Charlotte seems to be solidifying something, but I don’t know what. I had found in Mom’s information where she had made a living trust of the condo for Charlotte when Mom passed. What this means is, that the condo is Charlotte’s when Mom goes, but not until then. It also means that the condo can be used like any of Mom’s other assets, to take care of Mom. So where the interest in keys comes from, I’m not sure.

Meantime, Jackson is working like a bear to get Mom setup to go into Mountain View. Jackson took over for me with the social worker in Asheville and explained that we were trying to transition Mom to Mountain View. The rational was simple, Mom couldn’t take care of herself, one of Mom’s “caretakers” was 80 herself with high blood pressure, and the other caretaker was bat sh*t crazy, and had the papers to prove it. Jackson nor I were interested in taking Mom in, so, managed care seemed like a no-brainer.

Imagine my surprise when Mulva told me about a voicemail Mom left on my phone. I crafted the following email to update the tribe:

All,
I currently have a voice mail from Mom that she wants me to be guardian and that she wants to go to Mountain View. I don’t know what happened, and I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Hopefully Jackson can get the paper work done without too much more drama.Thanks everyone for hanging in there. The light at the end of the tunnel might not be a train after all.

Bud

So it seems like we’re all on the same page. Mom wants to stop being a burden on her sister and daughter, her sister wants to live out her days in peace, and her daughter wants to throw off the yoke of oppression and become the beautiful butterfly she was meant to be.

Until;

WTH!!!
How does Mother even know about Mountain View when the other day when I was visiting her she asked me where The Facility is located and how to get there.  I explained how to drive to it past where you turn to go to Maggie’s house.
I think this is somehow the work of Ann Wallace!
Charlotte

So it seems like we’re not all on the same page. As previously explained, The Facility can only hold Mom for thirty days for physical rehab, after that, to stay, Mom has to be diagnosed to be basically in a vegetative state. She is not in a vegetative state, as evidenced by her measuring out grief to everyone on an hourly basis. It seems that Charlotte has decided she can “manage Mom’s case” and she fires back:

It seems to me that Mountain View requires more independent living than she is capable of at this time. Remember, Edna, you told her if she couldn’t do her exercises, then she was not strong enough to go back to the condo and live alone.
Charlotte

As it turns out Edna is very opinionated about where Mom lands. Charlotte had forwarded me an email from Edna that responded to my suggestion that Mom needed to go into managed care. “Oh, no, don’t do that, they’ll keep her alive forever”, was what the email said.

I thought caretakers were supposed to try to keep their charges alive. Imagine my surprise. Well, Jackson is working like a bulldog to get paper work squared away and I am offering my soul and everything else to the Georgia Court System to be allowed to help transition my Mom over the weekend. I finally get permission. I can help Jackson move furniture on the 31st of January. I give Mulva an update to be shared with everyone with all the particulars: