Truck Soap Opera

I have been thinking the past month about buying a truck. I hate the mileage. I hate the culture. I hate the bouncy, rough ride. I hate the prices. I hate the thousands of configurations (Regular Cab, Super Cab, Club Cab, Crew Cab, Long Bed, Short Bed, 2x4, 4x4, Sport, etc.) Despite all that, I think the time has come where we need one of our vehicles to be a pickup.

At first, I thought I'd sell the Focus Wagon. It has 118,000 miles on it. Things are going to start going wrong. It's time for new brakes and tires (again!). I got the A/C fixed and the interior and exterior detailed, and researched all the websites for values, to get it ready for sale.

Then, after my trip to IL last week, I decided that after 38,000 miles, I really don't like the Hyundai all that much. I like the Focus' mileage and ride better. The Hyundai is worth more than I paid for it (thanks to the Cash for Clunkers rebate), and its value right now is substantial, but will drop dramatically from now on. The price of trucks being what they are, this is the smarter trade-in. So I got that one detailed yesterday--it looks brand new again.

And--perhaps I can bundle it with two of Dad's cars and come out of the deal without too much cash flowing south to buy said truck.

But what to buy? Compact, mid-size, full-size? Ford, Dodge, GMC, Chevy, Nissan, Suzuki, Toyota? Dodge can tow the most, Ford has the most available parts & service, Nissan and Toyota are overpriced, GMC and Chevy don't interest me for some reason. I like the Suzuki the best, it has the best warranty, but there are few new or used available, and the nearest dealer is in Virginia for warranty service, so what good is that? I'm car shopping again, with all the research angst that implies.

My idea is to drive up to IL with the Hyundai (sheet spread over everything so Ozzie-hair doesn't get in the now-clean carpet), trade it and the two Fords in on a truck, and then drive home with apartment detritus in back. I might even hook up his travel trailer and tow it to TN. I'll bet I could put a ton of stuff in the trailer too--well, not literally a ton, but a bunch.

It's an idea, slowly making itself into a plan.

Now, all I have to do is get the mental picture of Myself-as-Yahoo-in-Truck out of my head.

Loss

I spent most of last week fretting about my father-in-law, living (and dying) up in Jacksonville, IL. The hospice care team determined he could no longer live at home without 24-hour care, and had him all set to go to a local nursing home--then he heard the price and balked. There were many frantic emails and phone calls, and both Bill and I sent him emails trying to convince him that the nursing home at $150/day was better than paying someone $12/hour to be with him 24/7 ($288). His only other option was Jefferson Barracks Palliative Care down in St. Louis, which was free, but far away from any friends or his hospice team.

So, I boarded the dog, put myself in the car, and drove 600 miles. I was the tough cookie--I was the one who "incarcerated" him. I was the one to tell him that he was not going back to the apartment. I was the one who told him I was taking his checkbook, rummaging through his apartment and his belongings, selling his cars, taking away the last vestiges of his freedom.

He was pretty pissed, to say the least.

Friday, I took my Power of Attorney to the bank, got signed on all his accounts; met with the hospice nurse and social worker; called the TV and Lifeline people and got those services cancelled, packed up the TV receiver and returned the Lifeline ("help, I've fallen and can't get up) to the hospital; cleaned out his kitchen cabinets and took the food to Grace Methodist Church; met with the nursing home administrator (who went to high school with Bill) and arranged for us to take over the billing. I inventoried everything in his apartment and sent lists to Bill and Carolyn via email; cleaned out the refrigerator; started sorting through papers.

During my cleaning phase, I started finding $20 bills tucked in boxes of grits, taped to the underside of dresser drawers, stuck in the baseboards in the back of closets--things slowed down. The fact that he stashed money in odd places now meant I had to go through EVERYTHING. Every canister of oatmeal, every cereal box, every piece of junk mail in an envelope. Then I found the laundry basket in the closet filled with THOUSANDS of coins. I rolled coinage, to the tune of almost $400. I found a pie crust with a sell-by date of January, 1989. Really. (By the way, it looked fine. I would suggest that no one ever eat a pre-made graham cracker crust ever again).

Note to seniors: Do NOT do this, please.

I loaded my Hyundai (now known as the MusicMobile) with 14 accordions, 2 guitars, 1 banjo, 1 violin, all the coins, unpaid bills, keys to all the vehicles (he has 5), checkbook, signature stamp, paper goods, gifts we gave him that he never used, and some tools.

All the while, I was going to the nursing home and trying to cheer up Dad. I kept thinking how awful I'd feel, if this were being "done" to me. I felt downright disrespectful, tearing through his home and possessions. He has been through so much already. His tumor has turned his face into Elephant Man proportions. He cannot speak, because the bandages to absorb the drainage cover his neck--he can no longer use his artificial larnyx. His hands and feet are numb from the chemo. His wife is gone; she died in 2009. He is almost deaf. And now, the cancer is in his brain. He gets confused.

So much of aging (and dying) is about loss. Loss of mental and physical capabilities. Loss of loved ones. Loss of control over your own destiny and wishes. I'd be pissed too.

My September will be about vacating his apartment, packing away things he might need if he lasts through the fall and winter, selling all the sad junk in his apartment. There is very little to show for a lifetime in terms of material valuables. The musical instruments are his only legacy worth much at all. The rest is mostly sheets and towels that are 30 years old, boxes of photos that his decendents will wonder about (because they are not labelled), cheap particle board furniture, sagging chairs and sofas, and ugly lighting fixtures.

It is all so very sad.

Where'd my bed go?

Sometime in the wee dark hours filled with lightning, thunder and rain, Ozzie transformed himself six sizes smaller, wiggled under the barricades I had fashioned, squeezed himself into the 9" space behind the headboard and popped the air hose to the bed.

In the midst of a blessedly deep sleep, I dreamt that I was sinking, sinking...

I feel for his terror. I am sympathetic while he is shaking uncontrollably and drooling with anxiety. But when he messes with my sleep, I have no mercy. I dragged him out of his hidey-hole (accompanied by much whimpering and yelping), shoved him out of the bedroom and slammed the door.

Perched on the other side of the bed (the cavernous pit looming below and to the left), I went back to sleep.

Now I have to figure out how to re-attach the hose. If Ozzie were Lassie, I could just get him to crawl under there again and do it for me. Instead, I have to disassemble the frame and do it myself.

Not a great way to start the day...

Ahhhhh...

For the first time in a week, my house is less than 85 degrees. Relief. I had forgotten just how marvelous cool, DRY air can be. And quiet too, without the six fans blowing a steam-bath-like fog around.

Just in time for another round of house guests. Ray and Elaine are coming back from VT, and Joe from NJ is coming too. There will be much cooking, laughing, and yes, probably drinking into the wee hours. I haven't seen Joe since before my surgery in 2007. And it's always nice to be with R & E.

This should be a fun week at work too--a few beginning classes, some projects to design and knit in preparation for the following week's classes. I love my job.

I love my life.

I REALLY love air conditioning.