Darling and I just got back from our yearly cruise. We, and 20 of our friends, sailed around the Caribbean to celebrate a few milestone birthdays. A fun time was had by all.
In preparation for this trip, I had tied up all my loose ends at work, made it known that I would be totally unreachable during my week away, and set my voicemail and email to autorespond with the date of my return.
You might recall that Mama had some sort of sympathy stroke and went off to a nursing/rehab place the same time HER mama did–just a day or two before we embarked. I talked to her the day before she was being shipped there, and she seemed fine, if a bit confused as to why she was heading there in the first place. (Some vague comments about regaining some strength on her left side)
So when I turn my phone back on this Saturday, there is a frantic message from Mama, repeating what I already knew, that she was at the Medicaid Spa and I needed to call right away. Fearing it might have something to do with my legitimately ill Grandmother, I called the place back. The nurse couldn’t find mama, and figured she had probably “gone out to smoke again.”
A second call this morning was finally answered, and Mama claims to be able to move only with the assistance of a walker, and apparently disregarding the conversation we had the day she was going to this rehab, claims she was unable to walk or move AT ALL when they brought her in there. What. The. Fuck. Ever. Where do I sign for them to just keep her there??
Anyway, my longtime reader will recall that over a year ago, Mama got 20 some grand for the theft of some Nascar memorabilia and a jar of fruit cocktail. I advised, begged, and pleaded, that she use that money to move her three bedroom storage unit off of the 8 acres of leased land she has lived on since I was 4. (To reiterate the reasons why—the land is now very valuable, with development happening all around it, and I knew it was only a matter of time before the owners of the land cashed out on its potential.) Instead, she bought a used car (which has sat, rotting, in my grandmother’s driveway for the last seven or eight months, because Mama lost her drivers license and has not found time in her busy schedule to go to the court house to have it replaced.), a storage building (because adding another building to land you don’t own makes great sense.), and a riding lawn mower (which, by the overgrown look of her property, has NEVER been used.)
Lo and Behold, the day has come. Mama has not paid the paltry rent on the leased land, and since the weeds are taller than she is, the company that owns the land has ordered her off for failing to maintain the property and pay her rent.
Which is why Mama was calling, frantic. I’m sure she is under some delusion that not only do I have thousands of dollars sitting around to clean up her bad decisions, but that I would be willing to do it.
Pardon my French. I will not lose a moment of sleep if they shovel her trailer, her storage building, and her damned lawnmower to the curb, because I offered when she had the money to move it to take care of all the logistics for her. I attempted six months ago to go unearth the trailer from the years of hoarding, and she has failed to make even one sensible decision along the way. It is not my problem.