Monday, March 3, 2014

It Pays Nothing, But I Would Never Quit

Alas, my poor mother is once again homebound by the ice and sleet and snow. I hope she has enough slaw on hand. One thing is for certain...IF I could get to her house to take her supplies, I would not be allowed in the driveway. I jokingly made such a comment on the phone, and she said, "Well, you're right." I told her she might as well get a couple of orange cones and some crime scene tape, and mark that entryway off limits every time there's accumulating snow. No crazier than Kramer preserving the scene of a dropped egg on Jerry's floor, using drinking glasses and yellow caution tape.

Mom's neighbor came over this morning and shoveled a path down her driveway, and cleared off her porch steps. He rang the doorbell and asked if she needed anything. She thanked him and replied that she was fine, and told him he didn't have to shovel for her, and furthermore added that she was going to make some "Check Mix" later in the day. I wish she wouldn't call it that. This is the Czech neighbor. I doubt he minds, though. He told her he did not shovel in the hopes of getting any Check Mix, and that she did not have to make it every time he did something for her.

Really, though. It's not like Mom is going anywhere for a few days. She might as well pass the time making Check Mix. Hope he likes Bugles. She insists on including them. I told her to call him and say, "Your Check Mix is ready. Get your shovel and come on over. It's not like I drive a motorcycle or ride a unicycle, you know. I've got two more tires that need a path." She said I was terrible.

Mom also has the gently-used National Enquirer and Globe that I passed on to her Saturday. If she's read them already, she can give those to him as well. According to The Shoveler's wife, The Shoveler really enjoys those magazines. As she told Mom, "He can't wait to read them and find out who's gay this week."

Mom has been communicating with one of her best old lady friends from her high school days by email. The friend was worried about Mom during the ice event. "Do you have your firewood inside? Do you have enough food? Do you have water to flush the toilet?" Funny what people consider necessities. Mom has three toilets. I think she could even go without flushing for a short time if necessary.

Mom assured her friend that she had plenty of food, that her box of firewood was still there since the last storm, and that she had jars of water in the basement. WHAT? That's news to me! What is she all of a sudden, a prepper? I know she has several gallons of drinking water. She uses it in normal times, because she doesn't like the taste of the hard water from the faucet. I had no idea about the jars of water in the basement. What's that all about? I need to get to the bottom of that. I wonder if it's in her old Ball jars from when she used to can pickles and assorted veggies.

At least water in jars is not as dangerous as that bag of clothes she had sitting around in her garage, just waiting for her to back her Blazer in and jam the hot tailpipe into it. I might need to inquire about that as well. Like if it's still there. And if it was really clothes, or perhaps oily rags waiting to spontaneously combust.

Sometimes worrying about Mom is a regular part-time job.


  1. And just think...when you retire, that can be your FULL time job.

  2. She probably spends as much time worrying about you.

  3. But she is so entertaining. Take it from me, flushing is a necessity. I keep a gallon of water on hand for that when we start to thaw...... that's when the pipes that have burst will show themselves.

  4. Yep, worrying about parents is a full-time job.

  5. Sioux,
    When I retire, I will spend less time worrying, because hopefully Mom and I can gallivant throughout the county, tossing Chex Mix along our path.

    She probably spends MORE time worrying about me.

    I just figured that with three toilets, she could start with the ones upstairs, and work her way down to the family room, and by then, maybe her water would be restored.

    And they act like WE'RE the crazy ones for daring to worry.