Pack it in
11:01 p.m.
My mother called me last week and said that she was considering selling her house and moving to a residence and she wanted some input. I told her I’d get back to her on that. I know from long experience that when my mother says she’s thinking about doing something, she’s already made up her mind to do it. That’s just the way things are with her. So, when she called yesterday (or was it the day before?) and said that she had decided to do this, I wasn’t surprised.
But, it means that her house has to be emptied of junk before it can be sold, and a lot of that junk is mine, things from my childhood and adolescence that my dad stuffed behind the knee wall, things like toys, high school yearbooks and textbooks, art projects and whatnot. It also means that she has to go through her papers and sort out her own life, and this is where she wants my help.
One of the reasons my mom called was because she’s lost at least half her vision from macular degeneration and she can’t read the papers that she’s been finding. Many of them are personal or for family eyes only, and she doesn’t want just anyone, she wants me to come down and assist her with this task. Classes don’t start again until January 8, so I could conceivably take a few days and go down there and help her out.
However, I need to rehearse with F. Piano. I need to practise daily now, and there’s an opportunity for me to sing jazz at a club in Sutton next weekend which I was kind of looking forward to. I will probably have to just forget about it, because my mother needs me more.
Not to mention, of course, that the idea of her selling the only home I knew until I was 21 is freaking me out more than just a little bit. My dad’s ashes are buried in the backyard under the little spruce tree that I dug up from the neighbouring woods (neighbouring to where I live now, that is) and brought to Toronto. Anyone who buys that house will wreck it and put up a monstrosity, like has happened all along the street. I knew this day would come eventually. I guess I would never really be prepared for it.
Hubby and I went out this afternoon (I had seriously not been out for days except to go grocery shopping or to get the mail) to a bar in the city where this amazing guitarist was playing with a half-blind drummer and the bassist from his trio. The guitarist also sings beautifully, and they played three sets of mostly jazz standards. I actually got up with them and did several numbers and it was a lot of fun. Kevin and his girlfriend joined us, and afterwards we took them out to our favourite Vietnamese restaurant (it’s good and cheap with a fine vegetarian selection), and had a really nice time. Well, except that I was the designated driver, so I didn’t drink and had to watch as everyone else got rather inebriated. It’s really no fun being the only sober person at a table full of drunks.
It’s also very difficult explaining to someone you’ve hung out with all afternoon and evening that you need your own space for a bit. That last part kind of soured what was otherwise a really nice day. Sigh.
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