Tag Archives: My life

Miss Cathy has left the building: Pt l

Posted in April by

This morning a woman that I could hardly recognize greeted me at my door.

“Can you help me find my pants?” She said as she started to put the yellow tee shirt in her hands on as if they were trousers.

Today was the second morning in a row that Miss Cathy was having this particular problem.

Even after I pointed out the obvious to her she didn’t really seem to comprehend what I was saying.

“What is that in your hands?” I asked, ” No……..don’t try to your leg through it, just tell me what it is.”

“This?” she said holding up the tee as if it were something new that she’d discovered, “It’s a shirt.”

“Right… and we put shirts on to cover up our tops and pants to cover our bottoms. So where does the shirt go?”

“On top.”

“Exactly! Only let me find you a fresh one”, I said getting up and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “I think it’s time we gave that one a break for awhile.”

She went to her room and sat on her bed to put on the blue top that I found on a pile of clean clothes near her bed looking perplexed. She said that she still didn’t know where her pants were as she started to pull at one of the other tops (in yet another pile) on her bed.

“Are these them?”

Into the breach once more to discuss breeches (what was and what wasn’t).

I rummaged round in her closet and finally located a pair of lightweight pants appropriate enough for her to wear during the unusually warm weather we’re having (94 degrees in April).

I also made a mental note to block out some time (soon) to clean her out her closet; I couldn’t believe how much of her clothes were scattered on the floor, the clothes were strewn about like something out of the mind of a heroin addict.

I looked back to see what progress she’d made dressing only to see that she was laying back in bed with the sheet pulled up around her shoulders saying she was tired as if she’d just worked a long hard day and it was bedtime.

Clearly, the ‘pant/shirt’ lesson had exhausted her but I had to remind her that it was only 8:30 in the morning and she needed to get up, have some breakfast and take her meds.

Before she’d agree to get out of bed she looked up at me and asked, “What’s wrong with me?”

“You have Alzheimer’s.”

The other #”F” word: Part ll

Posted in April by

It’s common knowledge that “forgetfulness” is part and parcel of an Alzheimer’s diagnosis.

I’m finding that the collateral damage; anxiety, fear and depression (to name a few) that accompanies the “when”, “what” and “how much” Miss Cathy forgets to be very debilitating as the disease progresses.

The “When” took me quite by surprise because we hadn’t had an incident (or much of one) for quite a while then (seemingly) overnight things were different.

I was in a place where I started to second-guess (again) her diagnosis and wonder “why am I here?” because she seemed to be doing so well…..and for such a long period of time.

The “What” that was confusing her wasn’t just that she suddenly couldn’t remember things; she told me that she was having trouble ‘seeing’ as well.

To hear her explain it, the letters and numbers on the remote, telephone and alarm system weren’t just indecipherable; they seemed to be “moving” too.

Logic and reason did little to help her ‘see’ past what appeared to be true to her eyes.

I tried to reassure her that I was not being dismissive of what she saw. What troubled me was that she so readily accepted her new reality.

I was trying to get her to realize that regardless of what she was ‘seeing’ she should have been able to deduce that buttons do not ‘move’ and numbers do not ‘float’.

“Nope”, she said, “I understand what you’re saying, it just seems to me that my brain just doesn’t work that way.”

So, she would stare at imaginary moving numbers and push at buttons that weren’t where they were supposes to be.

“How much” she forgets and the price she pays for the loss varies from day to day; laboring over changing channels on the television or contacting someone on the phone (and being unsuccessful more often than not) she is absolutely spent, angry and/or highly agitated.

After one or more of these episodes I’ve watched as she toddles off to her bedroom to lie down, as quiet as a child in a ‘time out’, life punishing her for something she doesn’t understand that she didn’t do and is not her fault.

Green peas and squash

Posted in August by

“ I’ve never had green eggs and ham, no, but I have had green peas and squash; a dish that’s green, surprisingly delish and too bright to miss.

Green peas and squash are not harsh, even if served on a marsh and they doesn’t smell like someone’s arse.

So, if you’re on a plane, or in a train or playing tennis on a court in the rain, eat your green peas and squash-they may look odd but they’re good for your bod. ”

Okay….Dr Seuss I’m not but believe me, you’d start rhyming too if you saw what I see in the kitchen on a regular basis.

I’m the first to admit that when I saw the concoction on the kitchen counter I thought to myself, “Oh well, the old girl’s done it this time.” There lay a large bowl brimming with what looked like something left over from an oil spill.

Out of curiosity I picked at it with a fork, further mixing the peas with the dices of squash, the onion and bits of garlic. It looked a little funny but then again, so do I and I wouldn’t want anybody to hold that against me so in the spirit of solidarity I tasted it and surprise, surprise-it was actually very good.

I wasn’t “that” surprised because Miss Cathy has come up with some cockamamie dishes in the past but she succeeds more than she fails. And God bless her; unlike Paula Dean, Rocco or any of the other chefs on the Food Network, she’s never been concerned about the visual.

Since I’ve lived here she’s come up with some of the worst and best dishes I’ve ever eaten. When presented with one of her dishes I’ve found it best not to look but to just take a leap of faith and taste.

I don’t really remember her cooking like this when I was a kid growing up; it was all very “meat and potatoes”, stick to your ribs kinda stuff.

Her “Eh, why not” attitude seemed to have started late in life, now it’s all a dash of “what was she thinking?” and a pinch of “Oh no she did-int”. Whether it has anything to do with the dementia I doubt but I don’t believe in coincidences either.

And her best rationale for the combo of green peas and squash (which she thinks is a no-brainier) is, “they’re both vegetable’s aren’t they?”

Her philosophy is that “it’s all going to the same place anyway”.…. enough said-now back to eating your color coordinated food.

The UPS man (should) always rings twice

Posted in July by

I came back to Miss Cathy’s the other day after running errands to see a notice that UPS had tried to deliver a package. As I pulled the “ups-it” off the door I saw that the “No answer” box had been checked. I had been expecting the package (a pair of cargo shorts from Macys online-nothing work related or that couldn’t keep but “I wants wat I wants”). I was as disappointed as a kid on Christmas morning that gets socks instead of an Xbox.

My options for re-delivery were to reschedule (and wait) or pick the package up myself-not exactly Sophie’s choice but still….

I was pissed because I knew mom had been home when the UPS man came so there was no reason that the package shouldn’t have been there waiting for me. I sulked into my room-childish I know but hey, apparently there’s not much going on right now in my life if a delivery from Macys is what makes my day.

I realized I was being silly and was prepared to let the whole thing drop until later that day when Miss Cathy said something that annoyed me (quelle suprize) so (petty Mr. Pettington that I am) I brought up UPS. Without missing a beat she sidestepped any responsibility for the missed delivery like Wonder Woman deflecting bullets with her magic bracelets.

“I didn’t hear anybody knock,” she said dismissively, ”You know they just tap, tap, tap on the door anyway.”

Funny, I thought to myself, it’s awfully curious that she couldn’t hear the UPS man knocking on the door in the middle of the day when old eagle ears could hear me parking my car, walking up the steps and pulling out my keys when I come home late at night (and she’d been fast asleep).

I found it interesting that she was pleading Helen Keller when the last time this happened she had a completely different rationale. Back then she’d taken the position that she wouldn’t go near the door if she weren’t expecting someone. I tried to tell her that a robber or murderer wouldn’t be so polite as to knock so chances are whoever was on
the other side was harmless-or a Jehovah’s Witness.

Besides, the door is made of solid steel with a New York worthy Medeco lock so she was well protected as long as she didn’t open it.

I was annoyed about the whole thing but it’s not like I kicked the cat (and before you forward this post to the ASPCA I’m just joking and a) we don’t have a cat and 2) I’m still grieving the death of my 18 year best friend, Missy the cat.

I went about my day and later decided to call UPS to negotiate how/when/where I could pick up my package without having to wait another day (heaven for fend I deny the world the sight of my skinny calves).

Soon after I got off my cell Miss Cathy came to my door. “I have something I need to talk to you about” she said (Never a good opener where she’s concerned-right up there with the infamous relationship killer “We need to talk”).

“You know this wouldn’t have happened if you would have bought that doorbell like I asked you, too.”

So, now it was MY fault-touché, the best defensive is a strong offense (no matter how offensive).

“I can get it myself if it’s too much for you to do,” she said, meaning the doorbell-not the package. “I’ve asked you time and time again and you just ignored me and I know you heard me” Clearly, she was on a roll, “And I didn’t appreciate when you said, “you don’t need one-no one comes to visit you anyway”.

Why….I was stunned. First of all I didn’t know what had set her off since I wasn’t…even…talking…to…her and “bee” I don’t remember saying anything as catty (or mean) as “no one comes to visit you anyway” (not out loud at least…I mean, it did sound like something I would say).

Honestly, I don’t remember if I said it or not but that wasn’t the point. She went off and I went to my happy place. I agreed to buy a new doorbell “soon” and got the hell out as soon as was politely possible.

My trip to the UPS customer center was like being at the DMV; the line was long and the workers at the counter were surly and lethargic. An hour later I had my fashion in hand and headed back knowing that I was going to be getting several more deliveries in the days ahead (what can I say…online shopping is my new addiction).

The next day I put a post-it of my own on the door that read, “UPS: Please Knock loud and Knock twice, Elderly inside, Thank you”

Senior moments: Part ll

Posted in July by

Getting to the Bowie Senior Center proved to be a test of will and fortitude. The drive, less than fifteen minutes on the highway during non-rush hour should have been pleasant enough but I had Miss Cathy in the back seat remember-the killer of all times good.

It’s not that she’s intentionally an annoying companion on the road; I think that being confined in a space with her that’s about as big as my bedroom makes me feel claustrophobic.

Don’t get me wrong I love my car, a 2001 Burgundy PT Cruiser….it’s my lifeline and literally my “getaway” car. I also use it as a “living room” sometimes when I have something intimate or important to do like a private phone call or to write in my journal un-interrupted.

I mean, can you blame me, I’m with my mother seven days a week, twenty four hours a day unless I’m off working somewhere or shopping or heaven for fend I’m out doing something pleasurable for myself like being out on a date or relaxing with friends.

Of course I have plenty of outings and a lot that I do away from the condo, but I’m never gone for long because I don’t like to be away from her for more than five (or eight hours max) and that’s usually reserved for work and not play.

But the point is, I’m never alone..except for when I’m in my car….my PT, my four wheel “safe place”.

My car, I guess, has come to represent one of the few things that’s really “mine” and mine “alone” so I guess I’m hard pressed to share my space when it’s time to put on my chauffeur’s cap and become “Hoke”.

Now that she’s riding in the back she’s given up (more or less) “back seat driving”-cue Alanis Morrisette. It seems that since she can’t see the oncoming traffic she can’t comment or react the way she used to when she was riding shotgun.

I got this little “tony-tip” from my brother and it definitely makes a difference. I’m less apt to daydream about steering the car into a ditch and walking into oncoming traffic as much (so that’s a good thing).

The problem now is that since she has so much room to stretch out in back she’s usually doing something; like emptying out the contents of her purse or snacking or building a bomb for all I know but the noise she creates is just about as irritating as her front seat car talk ever was.

Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld could learn a thing or two about torture from this old woman. The constant sound of her digging through her purse makes the idea of water boarding sound like a facial.

First of all it takes a full five minutes for her to get her seatbelt on. Every time she gets in the car (which in itself is very Cirque du Soleil) she attacks the seatbelt as if it were her adversary, pulling and twisting, all the while keeping up a constant stream of jibber-jabber and bracing herself as I put the car into gear and back out of the parking space.

I had turned on her favorite country music station, as usual, thinking that would lull her into a manageable state of inertia but the twangs and warbles of the Oakridge Boys or Shania were no match for whatever she was determined to find, deep in the bowels of her handbag.

Try as a I may to meditate and focus on something else-like driving (or finding a rock somewhere on the grounds of the center once we got there and beating myself to death) nothing could distract me from the rumbling and fumbling, like the constant drip of Chinese water torture, mind numbing and relentless, as repetitive as her constantly asking me what day of the week it is, all the way to our destination.

Senior moments: Part I

Posted in July by

Recently I’ve been driving Miss Cathy around to a few of the senior centers in the area because she expressed some interest in what they had to offer. Of course she didn’t just come out and “say” she wanted to go. Mom’s way of “asking” was to tell me how her sister-in-law, my Aunt Dorothy, who I’m related to as a cousin on one side of the family and a nephew on the other (hey, country folk…..what can I say) really “enjoys” the senior center in North Carolina where she lives and all it has to offer.

After listening to her I read between the lines, the same way I do whenever she asks, “do you like Popeye’s chicken?” (she knows I don’t). But, that just means that “She” does and she wants me to go get her “two pieces and a biscuit”. So I interpreted her chatter about Dorothy the same way, as interest in a senior center and I was right.

Unfortunately, I had thrown out all my brochures and research in a moment of disgust after keeping them for more than a year “just in case she changed her mind” and wanted to avail herself of all that was available to her as a senior.

When I first moved here I collected everything I could get my hands on about “what to do with an old person”. Back then I was eager to please and enthusiastic to share my findings with her (suffice to say it’s an entirely different story these days) my enthusiasm has waned and what I find is mostly apathy.

Back then she told me in no uncertain terms that she had no interest in being in a room full of “old folks” as she called “them”…which led me to wonder who the hell she saw when she looked in the mirror every morning.

But, the times, like underwear, do need to change and it seems that now she was ready for something new.

I was giddy with the prospect of getting her out of the house (even if it was for just a few hours a week) but I was unprepared and not knowing how or where to begin. But, not to worry, after a few clicks on the all-knowing Google I found what I needed and we were off.

I decided to sidestep the quaint facility that was located in Miss Cathy’s solidly middle class neighborhood for another more affluent area. So, our first stop was the Bowie Senior Center less than 10 miles away.

Tom Wolff aptly named this group of moneyed movers and shakers in his native New York the Masters of the Universe so this would be their Washington DC equivalent. If you’re searching for a place to park an old person better there be BMW’s and Lexus’ in the parking lot and not Civics and Ford Focus’s.

F-bombs

Posted in January by

Miss Cathy is no stranger to how shall I say ……”salty language”. Let’s face it, she can make a truck driver blush but since her diagnosis she’s even made me wince and I’m about as vulgar as they come (I guess the foul-mouthed apple didn’t fall very far from that tree).

Last week with the redecorating and remodeling half way finished I was excited that when the ice maker for the new refrigerator was delivered that would at least signal the end of things to do in the kitchen for a while.

All of the new stainless steel appliances; stove, over the counter microwave and refrigerator came from the same big-box, discount electronic store and for the most part I was happy with the purchases.

On the day the ice maker was delivered I was surprised to see two guys at the door and not one and I was further puzzled that one of them didn’t just hand me the package and leave. The one holding the box said that they were here to “install” the ice maker so I proceeded to let them in.

Like everyone who now visits I asked them to please take their shoes off in the foyer before coming any further into the apartment. To my surprise they balked, one saying that we were their first stop of the day (as if that immunes them from bringing outside dirt inside) and that the installation wouldn’t take long. Since I wasn’t expecting them to install the ice maker (I hadn’t paid for that service-just the ice maker) I decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth and allowed them in (for some reason only the one who spoke came in and the other went back outside).

Unfortunately 45 minutes later the installer tells me that he was given the wrong ice maker at the warehouse for our refrigerator and another would have to be ordered.
I looked over at Miss Cathy on the couch after letting him out and she was fuming-not about the mistaken ice maker but about the fact that the guy didn’t take off his shoes.

I was on the phone with the store making arrangements for the correct item to be shipped and I made a point to complain about the installer’s objection to my request. When mom heard me mention the incident I could hear her in the background saying, “Let me talk to them.”

I ignored her, finishing up the conversation in my room and then I came back into the living room to tell her that I had handled it.

This seemed to calm Miss Cathy a bit but she was still worked up. “Well good”, she said, “that’s good that you know how to talk to people and get things done because I was ready to tell that fucker off and the people on the phone, too.”

“I don’t know who the fuck he thought he was saying he wasn’t going to take his shoes off, this is my house-not his!” “Makes me hot, I want to get that fucker fired!”

Alrighty then I thought, after stepping out the way of the last of the f-bombs and sitting next to her on the couch. Her reaction was kinda over the top but that’s par for the course lately so I just listened. She didn’t go on much longer and seemed appeased when I told her that the store apologized for the installer’s behavior and they were going to refund my money for the ice maker and ship and install the correct one for free.

That made her happy, crisis averted. The f-bombs are tucked away for another day, ready to drop at the next battlefield whether real or imagined.

Design in time for New Years Part IV: “Magic carpet ride” concluded

Posted in January by

The carpet guys started in Miss Cathy’s room, which meant putting ALL of her furniture into my little room (no bigger than Anne Frank’s domicile) while they ripped up the (blood) red carpet and padding. As they worked from room to room, hallway to closets the old flooring gave way to the new. The carpet had lain there for decades so I was surprised that it surrendered so easily, I thought it would be like prying a riffle out of Charlton Heston’s cold, dead hand but it came up without a fight.

During that marathon day the installers only took a half hour break for lunch, otherwise pretty much working straight through from 11:00 am till 7:00 pm. I did give them ice water and cut up some apple slices that I shared with them (I guess a little of the suburban hostess lives deep down inside of me).

I helped move furniture and when not needed I (deep) cleaned everything (when else was I going to have a chance to clean behind (and sometimes the bottom of) such heavy furniture.

By 4 pm I was ecstatic to see the carpet go down in the living room-no more baby blue carpet to ignore and design “around” as if it didn’t exist. At 4:30 pm I got a call from Miss Cathy asking if I was on my way to pick her up. In her defense I should have called her earlier (but forgive me I was trapped behind all of the living room furniture piled into the dining room and forgot about her).

She was none too pleased when I told her that the “surprise” was taking longer than I thought, I asked if she could just “hold tight” for a little while longer and I would pick her up “soon”. She grumbled a bit but I wasn’t really listening I was so focused on getting off the phone so I hurry the guys up.

By 6pm there were still finishing touches left to do on the hallway, closets and my little room. I was starting to get overwhelmed (evidenced by the sweat that started early in the day but was now full on flop sweat) with helping the installers finish, cleaning, putting things back and now having to contend with a mother anxious to come home. I was not looking forward to calling her back.

When I called the first thing she said was that she was “ready”-I told her I wasn’t, that it would be more like 7 pm before I got there and by her reaction you’d think I was the governor denying her appeal from getting the electric chair- I wondered if the other Ty felt like this when he was getting a home ready to view on Extreme Makeovers.

At 7:30 pm the installers were finished laying all the carpet and then they helped me put the heavier pieces of furniture back and the mattresses and beds back in place. As they left I gave them each a $10.00 tip- keeping twenty dollars in my pocket that I’d originally planned to give them but I was still miffed about being kept waiting so I kept the money as my own “Ty tip”. With them gone, I couldn’t do a barefoot happy dance on the new carpet; no I didn’t have time for any of that.

I spent the next half hour putting the bric back as best I could, giving up on opening another box after I noticed time ticking away on a clock I’d unpacked. I settled for trying to “dress” the living room so that at least there would be one space intact for the “reveal”.

With no time to shower and change, I splashed some water on my face and without so much as a spritze of cologne I was off to pick up Miss Cathy, dust and sweat my only accessories. True to form, she was sitting outside in a lawn chair in her friend’s garage waiting for me. I took a deep breath, reminded myself that this day was (in fact) all for her and pinned on a nice smile as I got out to greet her.

I made a detour to Kentucky Fried Chicken, thinking a bucket of the Colonel’s greasiest and finest would distract my passenger-I never saw Pennington and the like have to placate their families with a chicken wing but so be it.

She actually thawed out a little in the car-she was probably thrown by my actually talking to her on the ride home. Once we arrived I raced ahead (well, I didn’t have to race because after all this is “toddle along” Miss Cathy we’re talking about) to “fluff” and “tszuj” before she got to the door.

Once she was at the threshold I had her take her shoes off, close her eyes and hold my hand as I led her into the living room (by her halting steps you’d think she’d never set foot into her own home before). I felt just like the TV hosts leading the unsuspecting homeowners inside.

She opened her eyes and then…….nothing, like the book case that I “revealed “ to her a few weeks previously she didn’t quite get what she was suppose to see immediately but unlike the bookcase (where I had to tell her what was new in the room) she looked around, then down and said, “Oh…my….God!” Her face was a mix of wonder, shock, (horror?) and pure pleasure at what she as seeing.

Her reaction for the next half hour or so made all the sweat, pushing and pulling worth it. She walked from room to room looking at the carpet as if it might morph back into the old flooring, saying that now she knew what had taken so long and was surprised that so much was done in so “little” time. She was stunned and just so happy hugging me that I no longer cared that I smelled like the old, rolled up carpet that earlier lay like a corpse outside ready to be carted off to wherever they end up.

I reminded her that this was a present from both Tony and I (mostly me) and I could hear her telling the story of her surprise and how “blessed” she was for the next several hours as she called everybody she could think of.

The new carpet was by far the most dramatic of the changes that were to occur. Since that day there have been new custom faux-wood blinds installed to go with the silk drapes, new furniture for her bedroom and stainless steel range, over the counter microwave and refrigerator in the kitchen just in time for New Years’.

Currently I’m in the process of removing all the old wallpaper and painting the entire apartment. The dining and living rooms are painted and I’m working my way down the hall to the bathrooms and bedrooms.

She’s been a trooper with all the chaos, adapting quickly to the changes as I box up her things, peel, prime and paint around her.

With each new “reveal” Miss Cathy’s reaction has only grown and she seems happier with each change that I’ve made. I’m not done yet but we’re still early into the “New Year”. At present I’m under budget and over joyed with the results.

Design in time for New Years: Part III “Magic carpet ride”

Posted in January by

With the kitchen started I could focus on the carpet install. The “big day” finally arrived early on a Tuesday morning, with me up a lot earlier than the scheduled 9:00 am appt so that I could to drive Miss Daisy over to her girlfriend Adele’s for a “play-date”.

I have to say, I was very impressed that mom left without a complaint or a snide remark, honoring my request that she leave for the day so that I could work on a “surprise” here at home. For the week prior to “the day” she didn’t even try to ask for a hint or as to what the surprise may be either.

During the days leading up to the install there was a crazy amount of prep work to be done. Part of the cash “bargain” that I struck with the carpet salesman was that I would make sure that every surface was clear so that the installers wouldn’t have to pack anything or be responsible for breaking anything as they moved the furniture.

So I had to box up everything that was “sitting” on a surface, including all knick-knacks, books, pictures, vases, teddy bears, trinkets, collectibles, paperwork, clocks, remotes. Everything had to be removed, every surface had to be clear and that was a tall order.

A “Ty-Tip”: If you’re moving or need good heavyweight boxes for storage or any other reason, head to your neighborhood Target and ask a sales clerk if you can come back into the store-room with then to retrieve boxes that they have slated for recycling.

Their boxes are not broken down like most stores, they are folded and packed neatly for recycling, clean and ready to use. This alone is a savings of about $12.00(per) for a similarly sized box from FedEx or Staples.

I got about 30 boxes, took them home and spent the week packing up everything on every surface in the condo, starting with things that were merely decorative, saving the things (like alarm clocks and remote controls) until the morning of the install as to not interrupt Miss Cathy’s daily life.

Like most of the work that I’d done and would continue to do, I worked when Miss Cathy was napping or asleep for the night. So, as she slept I packed away her bric and brac, carefully wrapping things I much rather throw away, mindful that “One man’s trash is another’s treasure’ and in this case it was mostly treasure from an island I’d never heard of or care to visit.

But, four days (nights) later I had 99% of every surface clear, clean and ready to move without the threat of something sliding off and breaking.

Waiting for the carpet guys that Tuesday morning I felt like it was Christmas and Santa was going to be pulling up in front of the condo with a sleigh full of presents instead of a truck with strangers hauling padding and carpet-it must be what another “Ty” (Pennington) feels like during an “Extreme Makeover” (although, this wasn’t nearly that bad or drastic a change but in my mind it comes pretty close).

Since it was getting close to 9:00 am I started to move some of the furniture myself, all the more to help them get “in” and “out”. I’d rather help people I hire than stand over them and hover like some upper class matron in pearls and a chignon, following them around reminding them to be careful of her things because “they were worth more than they’d make in their lifetime”.

At 9:30 am no carpet installers so I called and was told that the “guys” had left the warehouse and would arrive soon. After several more calls and a lurking suspicion that I had been ripped of for the$500.00 cash deposit that I gave the salesman I started a calm “panic” (that’s when you’re screaming on the inside but outwardly you appear to be in control-kinda like the look of someone who’s just about to go “postal”).

I beat myself up for being too cheap to sign up for “Angie’s List” (did you know that Angie charges a monthly fee to give you a thumb’s up on trades people?). Nor did I get around to calling the Better Business Bureau like the responsible person that I’d like to think that I am. No, I “trusted” the carpet salesman-a stranger, someone who just came to the condo after I called from an ad in the “PennySaver” and I handed him five hundred dollars cash. Hell, anybody could run an ad, get a business card made up and steal a carpet sample board from someplace-can’t they?

While I stood in the window, less like a kid at Christmas and more like a con-man’s “mark”, I was kicking myself and wondering how I was going to get my money back-if I could ever track down this “carpet” salesman. And what a waste it was to pack up thirty boxes of stuff just to put it all back onto the surfaces of furniture that was going to remain on the nasty carpet I’d grown to despise.

The truck finally pulled up at 11:00 am.

The lead installer, Jose walked in with a grin on his face ready to work, in that moment I had a choice-to let it go and get to work or be a bitch and rail at him for keeping me waiting…. I did both, I let him in to start the work and then I called his boss, the “salesman” and read him the riot act and let him bitch at his employee later when he came by to check on the job.

The carpet company sent two guys, Jose and another young man whose name I never did get. Other than being late and unapologetic they got right to work, they were hard-working, fast and professional. I was impressed with how they were able to navigate moving the furniture-big and old as it was so that they could work.

It was going to be a very long day.

Next week: Design in time for New Years Part IV: “Magic carpet ride” cont’d

Design on a Dime in time for New Years: Part I

Posted in January by

While I was in Kansas City visiting Chad on my (long over-due) quarterly break early in November I had a brainstorm for a Christmas gift for Miss Cathy. I got the idea to makeover her condo (a la one of the design shows on HGTV). Think “Design on a Dime” and not “Divine Design”. For one thing I’m not blond or Canadian like Candice Olsen (y’know) host of the big budget “Divine Design” and I certainly don’t have the $30 to $50 thousand dollar budgets that she spends on her gorgeous transformations.

I’d done some redecorating, a sofa here, a microwave there, what I mostly did when I moved in was alot of purging and deep cleaning that (to her defense) she simply can’t do anymore.

No, what I had in mind (and about as much money for) was something more along the lines of “Design on a Dime” the show where the challenge is to use a modest budget (usually around $3000.00) and a lot of creativity to achieve their goal.

I’ve been living with Miss Cathy for about a year and half now and the best I can say about her décor and decorating is that it’s dated-lost somewhere in the 80’s. Unfortunately it’s not the high glam or kitsch one thinks of on (now classic) TV shows like “Dynasty”, “Dallas” or even “Who’s the Boss?”- it’s more like “who was the decorator?”

Not to knock my mom or her taste (well, I am actually), we all like what we like-but does hers have to be soooo tacky and tasteless?

Quite frankly, it was depressing to wake up everyday and walk out of my little, dull white walled room with old beige caret down a hall of powder blue “faux” shag carpet (it may have been shag at one time, I’m not sure, whatever it “was” it is now a soiled, matted mess) and continue into the living/dining room covered in the same hue. There’s textured beige wallpaper (some peeling a bit around the edges-looking as if it’s given up and just wants to lay down after holding trying for decades to be tasteful and failing) and there’s the heavy “Mediterranean” furniture that was made of some material not known to man but other than wood (and heavier than a Sequoia) and not found in any province of Italy that I’ve ever seen.

Every surface is covered with knick knacks, bric a brac, chotchkes, keepsakes from a lifetime (and remember she’s seventy-three) of collecting (more like hoarding but I promised myself in the new year I’d be kind (er).

And did I mention the stuffed animals (again)? They sit on every surface either along with or instead of a chotchke. There were over one hundred in the living/dining room alone when I first moved in here and I bagged up over half and put them in the storage room but the few that remain seem to have multiplied somehow and they’ve taken over all the seating again…….but I digress, back to my “desire to design”.

Suffice to say, it was definitely time for change and seemed the perfect Christmas gift for Miss Cathy (and trust-for me, too).

Now that the idea was born I just needed to put a budget and a plan together. Upon hearing my idea Chad immediately volunteered to fly out and help but ultimately that didn’t work out but I really appreciated his gesture. I hadn’t thought about help until Chad then I thought,”Fuck, if Chad was going to fly out to help what about Tony?” so I not so much asked but called and enlisted the support of my brother, (but I soon learned in a later conversation that he would be laid up in early January through February recuperating after surgery on his Achilles tendon so he was going to be useless to me-other than financially) So, the bulk of the execution of the plan would still fall to me.

In keeping with the TV theme I thought it would be great if I could somehow get Miss Cathy to leave for a week in say, February and that would give me time enough to re-paint and re-carpet the entire condo and replace/upgrade one or two major appliances in the kitchen. So, the germ of the seed of the idea to re-decorate was born in the Midwest and I came back East eager to put my plan in action.

Early in December I started to research costs and materials, trying to stick with my (arbitrary) budget of $2000.00. I soon realized the challenge was going to not only be trying to blast Miss Cathy out of her home for a week but also trying to stretch my dollars to accomplish all that I wanted.

I got three estimates for wall-to-wall carpet. I learned that I needed about 1000 sq feet of carpet and in order to get any of the “deals” I’d negotiated the carpet needed to be installed sooner than later (throwing my schedule of a February makeover out the window and making me re-think the order in which I got things done). Originally I wanted to paint first, make a mess without having to worry about the floor then laying the carpet last). But, with no guarantee that the prices would be honored into the New Year I decided to re-vamp my “plans” and just go with the flow and let “bargains” and “deals” dictate the schedule.

I negotiated (to me) the bargain of a lifetime for the carpet (little did I know what was ahead), I was having the entire condo re-carpeted, the installers would be responsible for removal of the old carpet AND “moving” the furniture as they worked to install (there is usually an “extra” fee (per item of furniture left on the floor during the install) charged for furniture moving which can be very steep. The other estimates I got ranged from $2,200.00 to $2,800.00 (without furniture moving).

“Mike’s Carpet” (a local company that ran an ad in the “PennySaver” believe it or not) agreed to do the work for $1,500.00 cash. Granted, this isn’t the finest quality wool or Berber carpet but it’s new, it’s clean and with just me and Miss Cathy toddling around on it-how much wear and tear could it possibly get. The best thing is that it’s all the same color, “Raw oyster” (a light beige) instead of the crazy quilt of colors on the floor now-living/dining room/halls-powder blue, my room –dirty beige and Miss Cathy’s room….wait for it-blood red.

With the carpet scheduled to be installed on Wednesday the 21st, I asked Miss Cathy if she could arrange to go over to her girlfriends house for the day-sort of a septuagenarians’ “play date”. I told her I had a surprise that needed her out of the condo and to my “surprise” she said “sure”, called her girlfriend and agreed to be gone from 8 am that day till 5 pm.

With her onboard, and without any questions from her I was feeling good. It wasn’t going to be the complete “reveal” that I’d envisioned when I first came up with idea but I’d resigned myself to the notion that a series of mini “reveals” could be just as effective-fingers crossed, it was all about to begin….

Next week: Design on a Dime in time for New Years: Part II