Cancel Delivery

Today we had a walker, a commode, a wheelchair, an oxygen concentrator, a backup oxygen tank, a portable oxygen tank, a backup portable oxygen tank, and a hospital bed delivered. We looked around the wreckage of the living room, and called to cancel delivery of the Mother. Seriously. We arranged for her to stay in Hospice another night because we thought it would be too disturbing for her to come home and see her house looking like it was turned inside out.

My sister and I are trying hard to make her living room look like it did before, only with a hospital bed, a commode, a wheelchair, a walker, and 17 types of oxygen.

I am primarily handling the arrangement of physical objects, while my glorious sister is tackling years' worth of old mail and papers. Remind me, when I get back to my house, to burn immediately any papers that are not worth over a thousand bucks. It ain't worth it.

For the edification of the interested (hi White Deer Park crew!), I did bravely get the scoop on the crush situation through the simple yet elegant technique of just plain asking what was up. Turns out that I had not been misreading signals, I had been getting contradictory signals: he is interested in getting to know me better, and he is hesitant to date for a couple of legitimate reasons (not the least of which is the probable emotional turbulence of a person who is caring for her dying mother. Er, yes).

So now we are planning to go hiking and start becoming friends in person, not just on Facebook. Without "dating," per se. I am well pleased with this situation. Friends is like flour: a basic ingredient in many different kinds of good things.