Winds of War

Windstorms are horrible.

Every particle of pollen and dirt flies through the air sideways, infiltrating screens and open doorways, impacting people's sinuses like Howitzers. This one has gone on for at least a week, subsiding a little from about 4am to 8am, but the rest of the time flinging shredded paper bags into the shrubbery, leaves and dusty filth into the swimming pool, dehydrating the lawn and gardens, and killing my eyes and nose.

A flurry of dust-devils are spinning back East, where my mother continues to decline into Alzheimer's. One of her neighbors called me yesterday, in desperation. Things are not well in my mother's house, where she has contractual 24/7 care. "We know they're leaving her alone at night," the neighbor told me. "And that one girl's boyfriend is hanging around there when she's looking after your mother. He's been arrested for drugs already."

Great, just great. 3000 miles away, what am I to do? The company that provides my mother's care is bonded, but what does that mean if one of the employees is feeding her boyfriend on my mother's bank account?

My sinuses are compromised by our wind, and so are my heart and my mind by the revelations of Mom's neighbor. Everything hurts.

Tomorrow, a family friend is going to go to Mom's house and see what is up. I fully intend to be with him on cell phone as he checks it out.