Messes

A lot of people thought it was insane that I drove to Florida in three days. But I had motivation. My cousin, who started from east Texas, was intent on getting there first. He wasn't happy that I was going to FL at all, thinking that I'd just stay in Cali, stupidly content to let him handle everything. As if. His idea for taking care of my father's home was to "have a team come in and get rid of everything -- they get paid by keeping whatever they want." I thought it was a sick joke until I realized he was serious. I rather strenuously objected and said the "stuff" in the house was my family stuff, and I wanted to go through it. He said, "I was just there a month ago. There's nothing of value in that place." I told him that what he considered valuable might be very different from what I considered valuable, and I wouldn't have a team of strangers throwing out or keeping what was mine. He bristled at that, and said it was his, too, since the will splits my father's belongings between the two of us. We had this conversation a couple of hours after he told me that my father had died, and it got heated. At the end of it I made it clear I would be in Florida as soon as possible, and he said he'd be there first. I wasn't just doing 90 mph for fun.

 

To illustrate my cousin's vast knowledge, I have to share what he said to me over the phone, as I drove across the country. He said it shouldn't take me too much longer than him to get to Palm Harbor, since I only had "about another 12 hours" more than he did to drive. 

 

Me: 12 hours? What planet do you live on?

 

D: We drove to California once. It didn't take too long. About 12 hours. It's no big deal.

 

Me: 12 hours to get across Texas, then there's New Mexico, Arizona, and the width of California, since I live on the coast. 

 

D: Nah, if you don't stop too much it's no big deal. Are you stopping at motels?

 

Me: Yes.

 

D: That's gonna cost a fortune, and take more time.

 

Me: Sleeping alone in my car wouldn't result in too much sleep, since I'd be worried about my safety, and the driving time remains the same. 

 

D: It really shouldn't take you too long, since you're doing this. Maybe 17 hours at most.

 

Me: I can't talk on the cell phone and drive. Bye.

 

I decided, before seeing him in person, that I didn't want conflict and confrontation and I'd be nice. I wouldn't argue, I wouldn't let him see what I truly thought of him, and I would keep calm. I did manage that while he was still in Florida. Before he went ballistic. But that happened later, as I drove home.

 

I listened to both my cousin and the last caregiver, Flo, tell me that they "cleaned" my father's house. Both claimed to have done this in the last month or so, when no one was there since my father was in rehab and finally the hospital. No matter how it might've looked before, to claim to have cleaned it is something they should both be ashamed of. You don't take the garbage out and say it's clean. You don't throw all the food away so it can't rot and say it's clean. I don't know what else they might've done, besides that. I know I spent 30 minutes using a solvent on the front of the fridge to get unknown marks off it. I know I found cat feces on the porch and in a couple of closets. I know I didn't want to know what I scrubbed up in the bathroom. I know that every single surface in that house had to be not only wiped, but often chipped at to get it back to clean. I know I had to work at the stains in the carpet, and only some of them responded, and that I had to bail out the chest freezer in the shed (because, duh, you can't simply take the food out and unplug it and call it done). 

 

I had to rent an ozone generator to get rid of the smell. Opening windows doesn't cut it when it gets that bad. The generator had to be run every night for a week, and then the ozone blown out every morning when I showed up for another day of sorting and packing and throwing stuff out. I had so many papers to go through that I ended up with 12 hefty bags worth of that alone. I moved furniture by myself and staged the rooms to look as appealing as possible to potential buyers. 

 

One neighbor came over after I was done and said, "Wow. Damn, girl, this is amazing. You know, you might make someone a damn fine wife someday!" I hit him.

 

During the first couple days at the house, after my cousin filled his car with "not valuable" stuff and took off for home, a neighbor came by and offered to clean the gutters for me and weed the front yard. I knew that Mark had done work for my father because my father had told me about it once when we talked on the phone. I didn't know he'd also ripped my father off, because that must've been embarrassing to my father and so he didn't tell me that part. I knew that someone else had once quoted me $50. to do just the gutters (I have a small fear of ladders, and doing them on my own, with no one to hold the ladder for me, was out of the question), and I knew Mark's mother. She and I have the same name, and would sometimes get each other's mail if someone forgot to put a lot number on the envelope. I once got a six hundred dollar check, here in Ventura, because her boss didn't put her lot number on the envelope and the mail person forwarded it to me. I could have legally cashed that check, but my values dictated that I call her, tell her about it, and mail it back. When Mark asked me if I could pay him upfront, so he could go buy some medicine, I didn't think twice about it. 

 

He immediately pulled the weeds in the small garden, then told me that he'd checked out the roof before and I needed to replace 12 shingles. I figured he was angling for more money and told him I couldn't afford to do any repairs, and that it had been raining really hard and there were no leaks. He told me they might not show up right away, blah blah blah, and I said, "What part of we're selling this AS IS don't you understand?" As he tried to convince me that he should replace the shingles he made a point of saying that he only weighed 160 pounds, so he wouldn't be stressing the roof. I told him I didn't care what he weighed, to do the gutters and nothing else. He didn't do the gutters.

 

He didn't show up the next day or the next. I went to his house and he told me he'd had a "touch of the flu" but he'd get to them that evening. He didn't show up. By this time I'd talked to my neighbors about it and they all told me that Mark's "medicine" was marijuana and he couldn't be trusted and I shouldn't have given him the money and he'd never do the job. Lovely. I was trying to remain calm, trying to deal with the stress and not make myself sick, and this bozo thought he was going to scam me. Somehow, the fact that I'd been so honest with his mother made it even worse.

 

I went back to his house and banged on the door. He came out spewing excuses. I put my hand out and said, "Give me my money back. You didn't do the job. Give me $35. back. You can have $5. for weeding." He said, "I don't have it to give you. I spent it." I said, "You shouldn't have spent money you didn't earn. Get your ass over to that house and clean those gutters." I said this while being literally in his face. 160 pounds. And skinny, with no muscle. I could take him and he knew it. He babbled about babysitting and how he couldn't go till later. I was amazed anyone would trust him with their child. I said I'd go door to door in the park and tell every person I could find what a thief he was and make sure he never got another job. He promised he'd do the gutters just as soon as someone came back and he could leave, even if it was storming. I said he'd better. I said, "Don't make me bring your mother into this!" It was threatening at the time, though sounds ridiculous to me now as I relate it.

 

He called me to say he was there, doing it. I told him I would know if it was done when I got back. He called to say he was finished, and report on how many bags he'd filled. I'm not sure if he was afraid I'd hurt him, or just that I'd tell his mommy.

 

But he was the exception to the rule where neighbors were concerned, just as David is the exception to the rule where cousins are concerned. Most of the people there were great. Dewey checked on me regularly, Sharon gave me anti-itch cream when the bugs bit me, Gerry took two carloads full of stuff to the thrift store for me, and Donn gave me the lowdown on prices and sales in the park.

 

When I first got there, my cousin said we should give away the power wheelchair to someone needy. I said we should sell it, since it cost over 5K new and hadn't been used much. He had a habit of repeating himself, possibly because he had so little to say but enjoyed his own voice, so touted giving it away again and again. I put up a notice in the clubhouse, told Donn (who knows everyone), ran an ad on Craigslist, and then called a couple companies who sell them, to see if they'd buy a used one back. No one wanted to buy the power chair.

 

When I left I told the real estate lady to go ahead and give it away if she could. And my cousin told me that he knew someone who needed it. I should've called the woman back, but I completely forgot it. Another drive, a funeral for my parents, I kind of had things on my mind. So I don't really feel all that badly about the miscommunication.

 

I was on my way home, somewhere in the mountain time zone, when the real estate lady called me. She wanted to tell me that she'd found someone to give the chair to. A man she met in the grocery store, who has polio and was using a decrepit old manual chair, now has a nice, power one. I was happy to hear it. Then I remembered my cousin. I called him to tell him. He went nuts. He screamed that she had no right to "sell" that chair, and raved about what else she'd steal. I tried to say that if his friend was on their way to get the chair (he'd told me the needy person lived in northern FL), I might know of someone else with a chair and could put them in touch. He wouldn't listen to anything. He was livid. He wouldn't let me get words out, no less finish a sentence. Then he started cursing at me. Saying I was supposed to sell it and hadn't done my job, and now I'd screwed up giving it away, too. He said I "hadn't done anything" and F-bombed me some more. I looked at the cell phone, found the disconnect button, and pressed it. 

 

I then called the real estate lady to warn her he was on a tear. I'd already had a call, the day before, from someone else who'd been yelled at by my cousin, so knew he'd call her. He did, and accused her of selling the chair rather than giving it away. He said he was going to fire her and she told him he'd be responsible for paying her commission regardless -- him, not the estate, since he'd insisted on signing the contract alone. She apparently infuriated him even more, because he called me again. When I suggested that he seemed far more upset than made sense, since it had always been his idea to give the chair away, and that maybe he'd planned to sell it behind my back, keeping the money for himself, his reaction told me I'd hit a nerve. There was more yelling and name calling before that call ended, too.

 

I then talked to the lawyer and told her I don't deal with liars or bullies and so wouldn't be dealing with him anymore. She said I had to, until the probate was over and we'd sold the house. I told her I didn't have to do anything. I think she may be on the cousin's side now. I was polite to her, but resolute. No one yells at me and curses at me and calls me names and says I didn't do anything and gets another chance. I wasn't crazed, as my cousin seemed to be, but I was hugely stressed.

 

So after three weeks of upset, hard work, and more upset, I was driving in the middle of nowhere, and I was more tired than I'd been from the start. Those long days on the road are always tiring, as I've said, but I'm vigilant about keeping myself alert. It usually involves a lot of caffeine and sugar, unfortunately, but one accident in a lifetime is enough. But, I guess because I was so focused on my cousin and that drama, I didn't realize how tired I was. Then I dozed off. I think it was only for a second, but my eyes closed. When I jerked awake again, absolutely terrified for that instant, I was still in my lane, still driving along with no one near me for quite some distance. My guardian angel at work again. 

 

I then screamed at myself, in addition to slapping my face, and turned the air conditioning on high. I pulled off the road as soon as I could (it's not actually safe to just pull over to the shoulder when out in the middle of nowhere) and walked around and drank more caffeine until I felt I was under control again. Still, it was a long day.

 

It was also a really long trip. So much happened, a lot of it I'll probably never write about, and overall the good outweighed the bad. The bad is just more interesting to read. I learned a lot about my friends and family, about how I deal with things, and what I'm capable of. Ever since I turned 50 I've noticed a change in my reactions. I won't put up with things I always put up with before, out of a feeling of awkwardness or wanting to be polite. Now that I've gone through this, I feel even more strongly that you get what you give in this life, and you have to value yourself whether those you're dealing with do or not.

 

The best thing that came out of it, by far, was learning how to accept help, and how my friends and family were so willing to offer it.

 

I'll be there for you if you need me. Just, not for a few weeks. :-)  I have this work gig I need to get to....