Post-Pascal Wrap Up: The Unabridged Version

All in all, "I" had a good weekend. Even the bad part was good, because I was expecting it, and I wasn't blindsided by it, and the bad part was predictably bad.

Every year, I am welcome to attend and help out at my friend's farm, for the annual sheep shearing day. Due to the snowy winter we had, it pushed the date back until this past weekend, when normally, it is held roughly the first weekend in March.  I promised I would go, and hoped the weather would hold up, and alternately, hoped it would be a manageable day regarding my assortment of pain issues.

The universe did not conspire against me. The weather was nothing short of GLORIOUS, and pain? Well, I had a much worse weekend the previous weekend, so all systems were GO.

And sheep shearing day was lovely, good conversation, and the professional sheep shearer makes it look easy with how efficient he works and how masterful he handles the animals. After lunch I decided rather than head home, I'd bite the bullet and head to the Jersey shore to see my mother, and get it out of the way. I'll be traveling soon enough, and won't have opportunity to do so, and at this rate, I won't be back down again until/around Memorial Day (if that).

First things first, I stopped at Delicious Orchards, a favorite stopping place for me. I love their assortment of coffee and cheeses and tend to stock up, and got provisions for breakfast for Sunday, as Audrey hasn't been home since January. I texted my sister to let her know, "Hey, need anything? And hey, want to get together for dinner?"

I then head off to Shady Pines, and when I show up, and like a frightened child, with MUCH THEATRICS, Audrey starts sobbing and wailing, “I’m so sorry I’m so sorry!” I said “For what?” She says, “I thought you were mad at me…” Oh it was just awful. Just dreadful. 

I sat there crocheting to blunt the agony of being there. She whined about how no one visits her. I quipped back, without missing a stitch of my crochet, "Hey. I don't have kids. I won't have kids. I am not a joiner, either. I'm an introvert, and yanno what? I force myself out in the world to do things with people, and cultivate friendships with people to avoid THAT nonsense." It's totally lost on her that she's miserable, and alone, and by and large it's her own DOING. 

Two hours was ample time for the ammonia reeking laundry to latch onto my cerebral cortex and sting my sinuses and almost render a migraine. It was also long enough for her to insist that I take off her shoes (yes, actual shoes, not big ol' Frankenfoot slippers). No doubt, she expected me to say something about how much better her feet look. Well? They don't look like two big cans of exploded purple biscuit dough anymore, but they're still clearly fucked up. I kept silent. I am repulsed at all of this. 

She sat there like a lump, reeking of piss and woe-is-me, "TALK TO ME TALK TO ME!!" (Feed me, Seymore! Feed me all night long!!!)  There’s only so much of that I can take. What little she contributed to the conversation was essentially endless complaints about the nursing home, where she no doubt is acting like a stereotypical, rude-assed tourist staying in a fine hotel. Why not? She treats my sister as if she were a servant.

I dutifully set an alarm on my phone to go off after 2 hours, “I have to go meet a friend in Middlesex for dinner.” I refused to tell her with WHOM. To be honest, it's none of her business. Also? Two hours is ample time for a visit. I took back my power. I've got my own shit to do.

In order to exit the building, I had to go to the front desk when I was ready to leave so they could buzz me out, and I had to walk right past her room to get to the door from which they were buzzing me out, and there she was, already on the phone bitching to my sister about me, how she doesn’t like that I don’t tell her everything, and bitched about the mystery of who I was going to eat dinner with. Which of course, was with my sister and niece.

Before my buttocks had a chance to transfer heat to the cushion on my chair, my sister started in on pumping me for information about the visit with Audrey. I said, "First things first." And with that, I slugged back about 1/2 my white wine spritzer. "Okay, you can commence with the Q&A session." Dinner was nice.

My only take-away from dinner was the conversational nugget from my sister. According to her, Audrey exclaimed, "It was an act of Jesus HIMSELF that Maven showed up!!" Said, of course, before diving head long into talking shit about me. All laughable.

I retreated to my mother's house, put a load (of my) laundry in the washer, and called my mother's brother and his wife (she, who has cancer, as referenced elsewhere) and invited them for breakfast. "Hey, I've got everything... except eggs. Bring eggs. See you at 9."

I put that load of laundry in the dryer, another load in the washer, and set up my mise for breakfast for the morning, and tried to go to sleep, and what little sleep was attained, was fitful at best.

I got up early, got myself showered, laundry folded and put in the car, and I started to render out the chorizo, and microwave the cubed potatoes to get everything just so, so when my aunt and uncle arrive with the eggs, everything can be cooked a la minute.

The solitary skillet in the house had a handle that was so wobbly, it's unsafe to use it, so I ended up transferring the chorizo and onions and peppers to a wrought iron pancake/crepe pan. While chatting up my aunt and uncle, the spatula I used snapped in two, and startled I looked at both of them and I said, "What the fuck? How does she cook on this crap? The skillet handle is fucked up, the spatula just snapped in half. She was in food service for 20 years, how the frig does she cook on this?" Uncle is a food snob right down to tools in the kitchen, while I am not a snob about utensils, they have to, at a minimum, be serviceable. 

Breakfast was lovely. Chorizo, peppers, onions, red bliss potatoes, eggs smothered in mozzarella, fresh strawberries, basil and "Hoagie Dressing" (she didn't even have vinegar in the house--how is this possible?), cranberry walnut bread, and coffee.

Breakfast was held and enjoyed under a veil of secrecy. I told them that they should not mention it to my mother (unbeknownst to me, they already know enough to self-censor around her), because she’s no doubt ticked she only got 2 hours of a visit out of me.  I said to them (and later in the day, said the identical thing to my mom's sister), "She talks shit about me because I’m not around. I show up, she talks shit about me because she got a short visit. Well? Fuck her. If it were up to her, I’d DO NOTHING ELSE except show up and visit her. It’s not even like she’s amusing anymore, or has outside interests, or even looks for even the most remote GOOD THING. Nothing but complaints and thanklessness." If it were up to my mother, she'd want to know and or control every last detail, every last interaction. And well, she's no longer in a power position, and just fails to realize that.

Midway thru the meal, my friend, who lives local, called up to see when I was popping by, as I had something for him I wanted to drop off. And I said I want to be on the road by noon, so expect me around 11:45. So this also drove home the point to my aunt and uncle that time was of the essence. And I think they knew it ahead of time. I'm really glad they came by for breakfast. It was short, but pleasant, and a nice change of pace from a house full of chaos, or dealing with Audrey.

Even my aunt and uncle were like, “Hey, it was nice to have breakfast, we know you have a long drive home…” And with that, I asked my uncle if he'd be willing and able to move a case of books out to my car, and if it ever comes up in conversation he should "Dummy Up."  As he lugs the box out to the car, he says,  "Hey, um. There are syringes in there." Well fuck. I cannot take the case directly to Good Will as a result of this discovery. So in the car they will sit until I am able to cull thru the box. 

What. The. Actual. Fuck? SYRINGES? She's got trash bins and a sharps container RIGHT BY HER FUCKING CHAIR, and she's too fucking filthy and lazy, she was dumping her used syringes in her box of books. I just want to Purell every last cell of my body. It's like being around a filthy, sticky toddler. I'm continually astounded by her ability to redefine TRAINWRECK. It’s repugnant, and honestly, it's exhausting to be around.

(TOTAL FRIGGING PARKING LOT, Exit 145, GSP, roughly 1:30 p.m., 

Easter Sunday. WTF.)

It took me close to 3 hours to get home, the holiday traffic was a bear. Once home, husband and I watched a movie, then later went for a very nice dinner.

Mom's sister fell asleep and didn't call me later as promised, so tonight will be the full on post-visit unload about everything, the abuse, mom turning into their father, the filth, the syringes, the impromptu visit by a psychiatrist (which mom has conveniently omitted in discussions with her sister). All of it. And further, I'm going to SINK HER BATTLESHIP with a direct hit and ask my aunt the pressing question of the moment: "Has mom told you off or something?"  And at this point in time, I'll tip my hand about how if something happens to my sister, I will be filing a petition for a court appointed conservator for mom's care.  If mom thinks things are horrible now, imagine what will happen when she alienates herself from every last person with whom she shares DNA, and will have to rely upon a court appointed conservator and paid lackeys to tend to her, and NOT on a schedule or manner of her choosing. Obviously the old saying and song lyrics, "Don't Let Your Mouth Write a Check That Your Ass Can't Cash," doesn't seem to matter NOW. But she will have her reckoning. It IS coming.

So Easter Sunday came and went without Audrey picking up a phone to call me to wish ME a happy holiday. I refused to call. I did my obligation with the visit. The phone works both ways. She may think she's punishing me by not calling me. I'm  merely acknowledging that this is going on, but she's pretty much punishing herself.