My Mother, the Source of All Nuttiness

I call this a "self-portrait" of sorts.

Always off-balance these days, always being knocked off my feet.

Today the bank which oversees my mother's trust fund emailed me to tell me that they had finally found someone who was willing to extend to Tere homeowner's insurance. (Her long-term previous carrier dropped her for nonpayment last April -- no one at that point realized she wasn't paying her bills except her creditors) Well, as long as they could inspect and approve the woodburning "stove" she has. ( I can visualise the previous insurance company dancing around a fire burning up her policy, chanting, "We're free, we're free! Don't put no blame on me!/ No way, no way! We will not have to pay!")

The bank added that an inspection would not be necessary if I could assure them that the woodstove would be removed from the premises and all would be well.

IT'S NOT A DAMN WOODSTOVE!!!! The beast in question is a huge furnace that could swallow a Volkswagon Beetle! It can burn coal or wood, and it is so old that when it needed serviced three years ago, my mother could find no one -- NO ONE -- who knew how the damn thing worked. It is a museum piece. Mom ended up fixing it herself, God knows how.

How is your mother planning on heating her residence this coming year? the bank asked.

HTF would I know? My mother has Alzheimer's and refuses to admit it, is impaired and refuses to admit it, should not be living in that house alone and refuses to admit it. There are no men with butterfly nets to catch her and take her away to a safe living arrangement. Everyone looks at me and asks me what I am going to do, but I have only one question for them that no one can answer: "Who is going to chloroform her and trundle her off to the nursing home?'

Her court-appointed lawyer has already warned me off. He'd love the hours of payment for litigation, but still smilingly pointed out that Ma can still dress herself, keep herself clean, and -- when he visited -- her house is still tidy. Obviously he didn't ask to use her bathroom. Or eat anything from her kitchen. Geehhhh.

I'm going to send in the furnace inspectors, and see what happens from there. The neighbors are afraid of my mother setting fire to her dwelling, and thus endangering theirs, but they are totally unwilling to complain to authorities about her being a nuisance or a danger. What, the daughter who lives 3000 miles away is supposed to say she's a nuisance? Cut me a break. If they can put up with her vagaries, I guess I can, too.

No one in the previous eight years was interested in hearing me rant that she was incompetent to take care of my sister or herself. At this point my sister is safe, and still alive. If what testimony I've given to this point was invalid, I see no reason to set my hair on fire at this time.

*Falls down with a thump into the comfy chair to fight off the cold contracted from Lillian's first day at school.*