even older age…

Friday, I got a long phone call from my oldest son, on my mobile phone. I was running around from room to room, to be able to hear his mumblings. It wasn’t anything really important except for him it was. He wanted his mother’s advice on how to shop at Amazon. I guess, when he was on his mission, his colleagues, recommended this crazy TV-show that does parody on hardrockers. I’ve never heard of it, so it must be on a pay channel here or it has never got here from the US. But he wanted to order the three series that has been released on DVD. I had to start up the computer and help him calculate whether Amazon was cheaper or the secondary sellers. Amazon is forced to add Swedish tax on everything one buys from them, so they are always the more expensive alternative. In the middle of our conversation, “Dollie” comes with the stationary phone, that is cordless, and says that my mother is on the phone. I tell her to stall her or let her father do it, because I was helping Johannes. But I don’t know what happened. One of them hung up so I continued the conversation with Johannes, since how often does he phone nowadays? This was the first time since he moved! No, the Thursday he also phoned and that was when I told him to look at the secondary sellers. Now he needed more help…

When we finally had said goodbye and good luck, I was called to the dinner table. T. had boiled potatoes and made me salmon in the oven and I had looked forward to it all afternoon. Then my mother phoned again. I tried to eat and talk but the hot potatoes were scalding me and the children were too noisy at the table, not considering that I was on the phone at all, with important things to say. I finally had to leave, even though I told my mum that it was not a good time to talk since my dinner was on the table. Like she has ever cared about that? When she phones, you must drop everything. It’s always been like that. And what was the phone call about? The same thing as Monday. She had forgot all about our conversation. But this time I had more meat on my bones. I could counter and tell her which doctor had reported that she needed a trustee. I could tell her that she had after all had a trustee appointed for her own mother, so it is nothing strange at all. I had to inform her that she had screamed, been very nasty to the trustee, and called her names. At this, my mother laughed, but had no memory of it. Needless to say, I did not find it one bit amusing and told her that it would be a good idea to let the woman in and also to apologize for her nasty behaviour towards her. But most of all, I had to explain that she has not been declared mentally incapable of looking after herself and that Hurtig is not a legal guardian but just a trustee. My mother has all the right to her money, house and decisions are hesrs to make. I told her over and over again and finally she said that maybe she had overreacted. She told me that she would phone Hurtig and apologize and phone the court for information. But she of course did not remember  who Hurtig is. Has never met her, she says, so I had to tell her all that Hurtig has already done for her. She started up about the boxes in the house as well and I once again told her that Hurtig said it was all garbage and not worth saving but that we are contemplating going up there. I had to tell her how grandmother became and how the trustee could help her, and that my mum should be happy that someone will keep an eye on her and help her if she needs help.

So, it was sad to read an e-mail this morning, from my sister, who had called her this weekend. My mother was back to zero. Remembered nothing of what I told her Friday, so that was all for nothing. I came back to a plate with cold disgusting fish and potatoes and when T. reheated them in the microwave they just tasted awful like they do when that is done. The potatoes getting a skin on them… I, who explained to my sister a week ago, how it all works, now had to write a long e-mail explaining again that a trustee is not a legal guardian and noone can touch my mother’s money except my mum and noone can take the decision to sell the house, except her. What a nightmare this is!

Saturday, “Cookie” and “Dollie” were going to dance since it was the Culture school’s Open House day when children can come and try instruments, see how the drama groups work and the dance groups. Well, “Dollie” said, she couldn’t dance because we have not bought her the blue dance costume. Well, she said that she was going to quit ballet and start jazz dance instead, so why should I buy the ballet costume? So, she refused to go and find out if she could borrow one like she did at the performance last May. But we got “Cookie” to the dance, and “Dollie” sat with us pointing out all the mistakes the teenage classical ballet dancers were doing. “Cookie” was cute. Danced well, and afterwards we ran in to a woman from church that teaches oboe, so all the children tried what it was like to blow in an oboe.

Then they drove off to a supermarket that was offering face painting, candy rain, hot dogs for all children and extra cheap pick candy. I had no desire to go to a crowded supermarket so I went to treat myself to something that I had no right to buy but have contemplated for weeks. A month ago this bag was displayed in a bag shop close to “Cookie’s” dance. I have wrestled with myself but dared not wait longer since spring is on it’s way and then these will sell like butter. They came in lime green, orange, screamy pink and this wonderful blue. I’ve never seen a bag in this blue before. So I bought it when I found out that all three shops had sold out on the orange ones already. They say that every time there is an Olympics, shoe and bag colours explode. I love it since the size is perfect for bringing a book in it, as well as everything else one needs. I have hated always carrying a book in my hand since it doesn’t fit in ordinary bags and I always have to bring a book for the car since “Kitty” refuses to leave after-school-care (fritids) until 15:00. Often it means 30 minutes waiting time for me.

When I tried to phone T. that I was ready for pick-up, his work mobile phone, that he had loaned me, did not work. It said that his mobile number had ceased to exist. When phoning home to speak to Daniel and tell him to phone his dad, the phone gave wrong dial. So, I was stuck, not being able to communicate and no bus card to go home on and the buses have stopped taking cash. I was close to crying since my feet where already exhausted and I was carrying one bag with my new bag and one with a spring jacket I had bought for Daniel, who is complaining about perspiration due to his winter jacket.

Finally after two hours and realizing that T. had phoned me several times but his work phone had the sound turned off, I sat and watched the phone and saw it ringing so I could answer. I was fetched and I had to laugh even though I was so upset and having bad conscience for my bag purchase. “Boo” had Spiderman painted all over his face. Red and the spider web. “Kitty” looked like a ghoulish zombie with zipped lips. And “Cookie” had a bunny face that I mistook for a mouse face. They looked hilarious. “Dollie” had not bothered but had tried to catch candy in the candy rain, but teenagers had parked themselves in front of the stage and grabbed everything so my children had only received small packages of dental chewing gum (that you use after eating to stop cavities forming). T. had bought them candy for the evening’s song contest on TV, so they still got candy but one wonders why the organizers let tall teenagers stand in the front and young children where they could not catch anything???

Sunday, was not a success either. “Boo” and “Sparky” kept on running out of Church, so ended up sitting in the car with them for an hour and how fun was that? No book to read and listening to the same classical CD over and over again. In other words, my weekend was not the best but I have a LOVELY blue bag. I don’t deserve it but sometimes…

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