My Mother Is a Tease

Some of you may remember that both of my grandmothers have moved into assisted living. The one from Ohio has a two story house with a basement. The upstairs was once four rooms, I think, but a wall was torn down and two of the rooms joined to make an attic. Not to mention there is a barn and a separate three car garage. It’s a huge house and I haven’t been there in 16 years or so, but I’ve heard tales.

When my grandfather was alive, my grandmother’s compulsive shopping was kept hidden. The things she bought were snuck into the house and then into the attic so he wouldn’t know. Since his death 16 years ago, I’m told that the compulsive shopping has spilt out of the attic and down the stairs. I’ve heard that my grandmother couldn’t even sleep in her own bedroom due to the piles of clothes — by the way, she still has the dress she graduated high school in. Apparently for the last 10 years, she’s been sleeping in her recliner. I’m told that there is no place for company to sleep and visiting relatives have to stay at my aunt’s house.

So, she’s moved into an assisted living place and she doesn’t want to go home to get anything, but there’s 80 years of collecting in that house. She might be a packrat but she had an eye for value. She collected antique dishes and glassware — and she usually got several sets of each kind so there wouldn’t be a fight among “the kids”. She has lots of things that are worth lots of money. Her future could be set if it’s sorted and sold properly.

So, in September, my parents and their dog are driving from NM to Ohio to help my aunt sort through the house and my mom has been on the phone with me a number of times asking me about what I remember that they might not realize is worth something — like my uncle’s old G.I. Joe doll, the kind that was Barbie’s size and had movable joints or a very old doll that belonged to my Aunt way back when or those metal matchbox cars in that cigar box that I think were my dad’s. Little things.

Then she asked me if I wanted my grandparent’s bedroom set. It’s old, it’s wood, and it’s good quality. Probably better quality than what I have. Supposedly, they bought it when they got married. It’s a double which is smaller than my Queen, but I suppose I could get used to that, but the furniture will hold less clothes.

At first I said no but I got to thinking about it. I’d hate for it to be sold or go in my parent’s barn. So I called her yesterday and asked more questions about it and expressed an interest.

Then I had the good sense to ask if they were driving the truck.

No.

They’re driving the car, not the truck.

When I asked how they were going to get any of the furniture to Maine, she said, “Well, one day.”

If I didn’t already have a migraine, I’d bang my head against the wall.

Like they’ll drive across country a second time just to haul stuff in the truck? Yeah.

tags: dysfunctional family

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