Follow The Money

“You do realize that you’ve made the majority of your assets ‘payable on death’ to daisyfae.  The directions in your will do not apply to those assets – they belong to her the minute you die.  Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

“I told her to divide by four.  She’ll divide by four.”

Mom didn’t even glance at me as she delivered the line.  She was not confused.

We met with Mom’s attorney about a year ago to wrap up loose ends of her estate planning.  Ken is a good ol’ country boy, close to my age, practicing law with two other attorneys out of a renovated house in a village near the Trailer Park.

“OK, then.  Let’s identify other assets you may have.  Do you have any cash around the house?” Ken was taking notes.  “How much, roughly, do you have on hand?”

“About $50,000.”

He looked up over his reading glasses – first at Mom, then at me.  Addressing him, i said “Excuse me…”.  Turning to Mom “What the fuck?  You have that much cash lying around the house?  You have been living like a gypsy for the past four years!  Jesus, Momma!  We’ve talked about this!  With all the workers and transients coming through there, it isn’t secure.”

“It’s in a locked box…”

“It’s in a locked box with a HANDLE!” i said, firmly placing my face into my palm.  Through my fingers i asked her “When was the last time you saw the box?  Inventoried the contents?”

“Well, I haven’t had a lot of privacy… Maybe two years ago?”

Ken barely raised an eyebrow. i apologized for the disruption and let them continue.  i was there as her driver and observer.

Through the course of the conversation, Mom laid out her financial soul*, and the circumstances of her life.  She declared her wish to leave the house, and the acreage, to my niece who had been taking care of her for four years.  Working through details for over two hours, Ken got a good bit of insight into life in the Trailer Park, and an introduction to the cast of characters.

When Mom landed in the intensive care unit after being admitted to the hospital, one of the first things i needed to do was get that box out of the laundry basket in her bedroom where she’d hidden it.  She’d also told me where she’d stashed the keys.

Preparing to leave the hospital that night, i told my niece, DQ, that i needed to swing by the house to find the original “power of attorney” form, which i believed to be in a locked box.  She said she’d call her husband, BJ, so he’d be expecting me.

BJ and the 7 year old, DQ III, were happy to help me find that box.  In fact, they had the box sitting on a chair in Mom’s living room.  BJ asked if i knew where the key was.  DQ III piped up helpfully “We don’t have the key!  We’ve tried every key we could find and none of them work!”

Grabbing another file box, overflowing with papers, i also snagged Mom’s purse, hoping that i’d find the key she’d hidden the in the lining.  “Well, i’m sure the form i’m looking for is in there somewhere… i’ll go through this all tonight” and beat a hasty retreat to my car.

Getting home, Studley was there to meet me in the driveway with a vodka tonic, and had dinner ready on the table.  We inventoried the box.  It was all in there.  Neatly divided into envelopes, recipients identified, she’d prepared all the cash for distribution.  Other treasures as well, including my grandfather’s pocket watch, and jewelry that belonged to my grandmother.

This belonged to the woman who didn’t want to call a medical transport to take her to the hospital because it might cost $250.  This belonged to the woman who fretted over every penny she spent on herself.  Prepared for a rainy day, she was now in the monsoon season.  Too late to enjoy any of it…

~~~~~~~~~~~

The week after Mom died, i met with Ken.  He got me started on filling out necessary paperwork, and coached me on navigating the wickets ahead.  We went through assets that were likely to be outside the estate, and the few items that would need to be included.  When we were done with the formalities, he looked me directly in the eye.

“Your Mom knew what she was doing.  Given all the crazy business in your family, your niece exploiting her, she just left everything to you, didn’t she?  She appreciated that you’ve worked hard all your life, and that you’d probably go do good things with all that money.”

“Ken, you heard her say ‘divide by four’.  That’s what she wanted.  The house and property go to my niece, and everything else is divvied up between me and my sisters and brother.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been the one who has looked after her interests for all these years.  Don’t you think she really left it to you because you’ll end up taking care of them all anyway?  Why else would she have done it this way?  You don’t have to tell anyone how much is there – it’s all yours.  They don’t even need to know…”

i was stunned.  Was he really suggesting that i keep it all?

Leaning forward, staring him down. “Sir, you are looking at 200 pounds of pure guilt.  She said ‘divide by four’ and i’m going to divide by four.  There is no other option.”

He sprouted a huge grin, leaned back in his chair and said “And THAT’S why she picked you!  Ok, about transferring the title to her car…”

honest lawyer

*Mostly.  i’m still finding Easter Eggs here and there.  Places where she stashed assets and either forgot about or forgot to mention… Going through some of her papers, there are a few mysteries afoot, too.

Quarterly Update: Un-fucking myself

Despite the monkey wrench delivered squarely in my gut in mid-September, i have not forgotten my pledge to gently “un-fuck” myself.  The first two quarterly updates in April and June showed steady progress on my fitness goals, and slowed progress on the excavations…

When my son and daughter came home in July, they were both highly motivated to eat all of the pizza in town, while consuming gallons of tasty beer.  Being some what weak-willed when it comes to food and drink, i managed to gain back 10 pounds of the 25 i’d discarded in the first 6 months of the year.

Happy to say that i’ve unloaded most of that within the same quarter, and can claim a sustained net loss of 25 pounds for the year.  Given two weeks of eating meals from vending machines and gas station roller grills during Mom’s hospitalization, and funerary doings, i’m surprised i haven’t gained any more.

The German language has the most beautiful word:  Kummerspeck.  It means “grief bacon”.  Between the bacon and the booze, it’s a fucking miracle, but i’ve kept up the gym habit, and continue to load my fat arse onto my bicycle seat.  Will stay the course…

As for the excavations?  i managed to clear a bookshelf, and find a home for it, along with a few other small pieces of furniture.  Another trip to donate goods at the thrift store happened, but over all, not much done in this regard.

In fact, as executor for Mom’s estate, i have been hauling boxes and bags of shit back home with me, sorting out piles of bills and legal documents. Feel as though i went backwards in this one – at least for now.  i did manage to find some time this weekend to build some ‘piles’ on the top of the Murphy bed in my office to start to regain some semblance of order… For the past three weeks my dining room table has been a jumble of papers and envelopes and mail and…. stuff…

It will take at least 6 months to get all of it sorted and settled, so i am trenched in on this.  Mom did a good job with estate planning back in February, so it’s not nearly as complicated as it could have been.  But she left me with some rather vexing issues, and all i can do is… wait… think… and keep making piles.

We are moving slowly.  There is no rush to clear Mom’s personal effects, and my niece, DQ is sole owner of the home, so it is entirely up to her to set the pace for such things.  She was absolutely phenomenal during Mom’s last week, and has demonstrated tremendous grace throughout.

As we sat at her dining room table last week, sorting bills and transfers of utilities and the like, she had a few items waiting for me – things she wanted me to have.  Among them?  This little dude…  Mom told her that it was special to me, and that i should probably have it.

i may have been reduced to a blubbering ball of tears and snot…

He kept me company on the ride home that afternoon… Arrivederci, Roma… Good to see you again, kiddo.

Arrivaderci

End of the Season

At the end of the season, our communal pool is opened up for a Doggie Splash Day.  Residents can bring their pups and they get to fart around in the pool before the final cleaning before closure for the winter months.

This has been one of Mr. Pickles favorite things – and this is a dog whose favorite thing is generally whatever he is doing at the moment.  Today was a storybook perfect early autumn day – blue sky, wispy clouds, and warm, dry air.

Because of other commitments, i took a few hours off work today to make sure he had a chance to enjoy it.  Arriving promptly at 4:00pm, he wasted no time jumping in to steal a toy from another dog, Morgan – an elderly Chesapeake Bay Retriever.  This has become something of an annual tradition.

Devil DogMr. P, having more heart than brains, threw himself into the water with reckless joy.  He’s not always cognizant of where the steps are, so this meant i had to throw myself into the water to guide him back to safety on a few occasions.

He played.  And he played some more.  Other residents – even those without dogs – were entertained by his spirit.  After about 40 minutes, he was getting tired, and i repeatedly had to shepherd him to the steps to rest, but he would have none of that.  i very nearly had to carry him home, because…. well…. DOGS!  WATER!  BALLS!

It was hard to leave, but i was worried about him.  He’d jump in, completely submerge, pop to the surface and snag the tennis ball – but he was starting to gasp to catch his breath.  There is a fine line.  He might push himself too far… But, he’s thirteen years old.  It’s entirely possible that he won’t be alive next year for the Doggie Splash Day.

As i was walking him home, i got a text from my niece, DQ.  Mom has been feeling pretty rotten this week, and has been mostly bedridden with fatigue.  Earlier this week, she told my brother-in-law “I’ve lived a good, long life.  It may be my time…”

When i talked to her last night, her mind was firing on all cylinders, and she was ready to give up.  Given her symptoms, i was pretty sure it was an infection of some sort, and encouraged her to let DQ get some blood work done… Maybe even go to the emergency room if necessary to get checked out.

The text message from DQ was to let me know that Mom has been admitted for pneumonia, which is generally treatable.  She’ll also have to have fluid drained from her lungs – the last time this happened was in early July.  It has come back just a few months later.  Untreated, it will kill her.

Another fine line.

Ultimately, it is Mom’s decision.  i am hopeful that 24 hours of antibiotics will have her feeling less miserable, and perhaps in a better position to sort out her chosen path forward.  i will support it, whatever she decides.

Fingers crossed that she still has some enjoyable days ahead, even if the longer term prognosis sucks.

Happy Pup

Excavations

Mom is moved back into her home, and even though it took far too long, it is absolutely perfect for her needs.  When we first began excavations, we had to go through a seemingly insurmountable mess – decades of ‘stuff’ that she simply couldn’t part with…

We used four categories:  “Keep” (put in storage during renovations), “Donate”,  “Garage Sale”, and “Pitch”.  The “Donate” pile was substantial, and Mom’s church had a great inventory that year.  The “Garage Sale” items were parked in her back yard shed for future disposition.

This week, my niece, DQ began rooting through some of those items, and has been working on a family garage sale.  i was surprised to get the following picture via text message last night.

glass shit“Another Box Full of Glass Shit”

DQ:  I’m going to assume you’ve been through this box before?

daisyfae:  YES!  Definitely my handwriting!

The Perfect Day

The dog was dying.  His owner decided to give his pet a perfect day.  i’d read this sweet story of how one man prepared for the loss of a beloved companion a few years ago.

Since then, i’ve given this some thought, and have planned to do something similar for my old pup, Mr. Pickles.  Rather than wait, i’ve thrown in elements of ‘perfect days’ for my dog as we go about the business of living – why give him just one?  Three weeks ago on a hot June day, Studley and i decided Mr. P needed to go out for ice cream…

He loved it…

Mr. P gets ice cream

Having a dinner of Mexican food and killer margaritas with my children, Studley, and his daughter, we discussed the elements of Mr. Pickles perfect day.  Discussing all the things he loves, we tried to lay out the things he most loves… Cheese.  Chasing a ball.  Chasing the cat*.  Naps.  Splashing in water.  Riding in the jeep.  Eating his own turds.**

i was interrupted during dinner by a call from my niece, DQ.  Mom had been admitted to the hospital earlier this week with fluid in her lungs.  Stepping out to take the call, i got some fairly grim news.  The lung cancer is probably back, and not treatable.  Mom was feeling rotten, also battling a staph infection in her blood.  We made plans to meet with a counselor from hospice.

Returning to the table, i kept the news to myself for a bit – not wanting to take a steaming shit on a really good time.  i filled my children in on the news from The Park when we got home.

The Boy:  Maybe it’s time to craft a Perfect Day for Granny…

daisyfae:  i’ve already done a bit of that… but yeah, we could do more!

In January, i brought Mom to visit when my sister, T and her partner came to town for a long weekend.  We spoiled Mom with attention, and food and entertainment.  Not to mention blessed quiet, which is in short supply in her current living arrangements.

Last May, i had her up for another fun-filled weekend!  Cooked steaks on the grill on a Friday night, then went to a local women’s league luncheon the next day, where she was showered with attention amidst a great deal of silliness.  Putting on two ridiculous Derby hats that i’d crafted, we went to a bourbon tasting – where she enjoyed a perfect mint julep.  Sunday morning, we brought her to the horse show, where she got to see her “baby” compete in the arena with all the other kids…

The prognosis for Mom isn’t great, but it seems the cancer is slow moving.  She’ll need more in-home skilled nursing care in the future.  But she’s not quite dead yet, and finding ways to give her elements of “The Perfect Day” is deeply embedded in my brain.

Derby Day

 * The Boy thought it would be most fun if we tape the cats back legs together, allowing Mr. Pickles a better chance to “play”.  Although Huey is a team player, i’m not sure i’ll go that far…

** Nope.  Not gonna happen.

Arrivederci Roma

The kid with the tangled mane of hair sprawled across the worn gray carpet in the living room  She’d spent hours working the music box mechanism.  Winding up the platform, where the wooden boy, arm raised confidently, strode toward the train.

get on the train kid

She played a game.  Trying to wind up the music box just enough so that as it slowed, it would end on the final strains of the tune.  Sometimes cheating a little, pushing in the metal button to stop the music at the right place.

Forty five years later, the kid still has hard to manage hair.  She still doesn’t care much what it looks like most of the time.  She was back in that same living room yesterday, bringing her mother home from an appointment with the cardiologist…

Mom is doing ok as she approaches her 86th birthday.  The lung cancer has apparently been radiated into submission.  A pacemaker keeps her heart ticking along.  She moves slowly, with the assistance of a cane.  Usually out of breath, the cardiologist ran another EKG, and ordered some blood work to check for anemia.  Checked her pulse oxygen, which was a reasonable 93% using the finger cuff.

“I’m just so tired.  Sometimes I just think my heart is going to quit.”

Mom has been working through her estate plans.  She is not confused about what she wants to happen when she dies, and has taken the advice of her attorney to get things sorted.  We’d just returned from another visit to the bank to address some of these issues

Going into Mom’s apartment, she brought me to the dresser where she keeps her important papers.  She was showing me where she keeps stock certificates, and other assorted documents.

i was surprised to see the little guy on the music box, still chasing that train…

At the first strains of the tune, i was right back on that worn gray carpet.  A little dusty, it still worked perfectly…

“Your Dad gave me that years ago…”

“i know, Mom.  i remember this well…”  Still able to wind it up just so… Still able to use the metal button to bring the music to a halt at just the right place…

“Do you want it?  Put your name on the bottom of it.  Or just take it home now…”

“No.  i can’t do that…  You still have it out!  It looks perfect right here…”

“Well, you better mark it if you want it because if you don’t it might disappear after i’m gone…”

We had discussed this over lunch.  It is entirely within the realm of the plausible that anything that could potentially be of monetary value will vaporize as soon as she dies.  “The perils of benefactors, the blessings of parasites.”

i left it there, but the melody has been stuck in my head ever since.  Thinking about my father.  Thinking about the man that devoted his life to caring for her, and her children.  Leaving behind friends and family in the northeast, and starting over in his new role…

arrevederci roma

Get on that train, kid.  Don’t look back…

Hospital-ity

Renovation to Mom’s house is nearly complete, an occupancy permit has been granted, and after over four years, there is a glimmer of hope that she will get to live in her own home again before she dies! (Plot synopsis here, if you’re new!)

Why, after fourfuckingyears, has this become a priority for my niece, DQ, and her husband, BJ? Progress was sporadic from the start, since BJ needed time off for vacations, deer hunting – not to mention his paying jobs. I had considered several options to increase his motivation over the past few years, but Mom didn’t want to make anyone mad.

The motivation came from an unexpected source – BJ’s parents. When DQ and BJ first married, BJ’s parents bought the house out of foreclosure, offering to rent the house back to them. This arrangement worked fairly well – until September, when BJ’s parents announced their plans to get a divorce. The house must be sold. By Christmas. Essentially, they’re being evicted!

Taking Mom to the cardiologist when this was breaking news, she let me know that DQ had been putting pressure on to change the deed to the house before moving in. For her protection. My reaction was a bit less than enthusiastic…

daisyfae: FUCK THAT!

Mom: I know. I don’t see any reason it can’t wait until after we move in, but she’s worried that the rest of the family will cause trouble and she’ll be homeless.

daisyfae: She has earned compensation for taking care of you!  No one is arguing that! She can always sell the land you gave them. [grinding teeth] You just tell me what you want to do and i’ll make it happen…

Mom: She’s putting pressure on me to set up an appointment with the attorney.

daisyfae: Under no circumstances are you to go to see the attorney to change your will, or the deed to the house, without me present. This will not only protect you, but it will protect DQ should anyone ever think there was coercion.

Mom: That makes sense. I just don’t want her to get upset with me…

daisyfae: Tell her it’s my schedule. i really am busy at work, so taking a day off is going to be tough.

And that’s where we left it…

The message was apparently delivered. A few days later i started getting passive-aggressive pings from DQ about setting up an appointment with the attorney. i was polite – and my schedule really has gotten tough.

This is unpleasant and stressful.  i became engaged in another round of “Trailer Park Mexican Standoff” via e-mail. Trying to take the heat for Mom, without causing any trouble. My instinct is to call bullshit, and be a far more direct, but Mom requested the sideways approach.

It didn’t surprise me to get a call from DQ as i was leaving work last Thursday. Because i was driving, i let it go to voicemail. Just not in the mood to deal with the bullshit. Retrieved the voicemail when i got home.

DQ: Took Granny to the doctor today because her cough has gotten worse, and she’s been very weak. Doctor sent us directly to ER. They’re going to admit her – probable pneumonia. I’ll keep you posted.

Well.

So much for my righteous indignation. When shit hits the fan, DQ does an excellent job taking care of Mom. All squabbles set aside. Priorities firm. We’ll sort out the legal stuff later.

Visited Mom over the weekend, and she took a few minutes to write a note to The Boy. Wished him a happy birthday. Told him she’s proud of him. Didn’t mention her troubles.

hospital-ity

She’s home now, and is doing much better. We came up with a new plan of attack.  We’ll get back to the regularly scheduled bullshit later…

Lessons of old dogs

“Do you think your pup needs to go outside?”

“Nah! i took him out a couple of hours ago! He’s just being a pest!”

Studley and i went on about our project du jour, while my ancient dog continued to try to join the game. He eventually wandered off to the living room and we went on with our adventures. Only to be interrupted a few minutes later by the unmistakable sound of a torrent of urine* being unloaded onto carpet.

Rushing toward intervention i got him hooked to his leash and opened the front door so he could take the remainder out into the bushes. We came back inside, and the poor fella looked rather forlorn, knowing he wasn’t supposed to paint the rug.

Giving him a pat on the head, i assured him that it was ok, as i set about mopping up the mess.

“It’s ok, Buddy! You tried to tell us! Nothing more you could have done!”

i got out the SpotBot to do some extraction.  Mr. Pickles sheepishly wagged his tail and looked a little less grim.

“You know, at his age?  There really isn’t anything he can do to piss me off…”

i stopped dead in my tracks.

“Why don’t i feel the same way about Mom?”

Turns out?  i do.

When i launched the blog back in 2008, one of my primary demons was my relationship with my mother.  i was angry and resentful at her for the way she treated my father.  i was frustrated by her history of ‘one bad damn decision after another’ – primarily in the arena of enabling my siblings to continue to make ‘one bad damn decision after another’.  i could not comprehend her bitterness with life, given that the last half with Dad had been far better than the first half – and she never seemed to demonstrate gratitude for the gifts around her.

But i’ve since realized that her relationship with my father was/is none of my business.  He understood and accepted her.  Who am i to weigh in on that?  Every decision she ever made regarding my siblings was made with love – she wanted to help.  She was born bitter, and will die bitter, and there’s nothing that can change that.  Her heart is generous, it just has a really thick crust on the outside.  She’s done the best she could with what she’s been given.

i can honestly say – “At 84 years old, there is nothing my Mother can do to piss me off.”

mr pickles sez

* My dog has a phenomenal capacity for piss. Through the years, he has developed the ability to hold onto it for many hours.  When he lets go? It’s Victoria Falls. In yellow…

Another round…

Mom sat in the chair holding her cane with both hands.  As if she needed it for support, even while seated.  Shoulders slumped.  Droopy eyelids completely closed.

Dr. M* looked up from the computer screen, where she was taking electronic notes while doing the quarterly medical assessment.

Dr. M:  Other than the pain in your leg, how are you feeling?

Mom:  My heart… My heart just feels heavy.  The pacemaker keeps it going, but sometimes I just wish it would stop.  I’m so tired…

We’d been focusing on the lung cancer treatment for the first part of the year.  When i took Mom out-of-town on our whirlwind adventure last week, my niece had warned me that Mom had trouble walking, and was having pain in her right leg.  And Mom struggled during our trip.

Pain in her shin has been the consistent indicator that Mom has a blockage in the iliac artery – successfully treated with angioplasty and a stent twice before.  The procedure is only mildly invasive, and has worked wonders.

In addition to that, she had a follow-up visit last week with the pulmonary specialist, looking over the results of her CT scan taken after the radiation treatments, targeted on the cancer nugget in her lung.

Dr. M was pretty sure that the occlusion in the CT scan results was due to bronchial blockage, and that was probably what was making Mom feel so generally crappy.  The body needs oxygen.  If the lungs got gummed up by radiation, oxygen isn’t getting where it needs to get…

i’d taken Mom out for lunch before our visit with the doc.  It was pretty obvious she was feeling crappy**.  So crappy that there wasn’t even much energy in her complaints.  A lot of sighs…

Dr. M confirmed that between the bronchoscopy treatment proposed by the pulmonary doc, and replacement of a failing iliac arterial stent, it was possible that Mom could be feeling much better with only a moderate amount of medical treatment.

But Mom just sighed…

As Mom told the doc about her heavy heart, Dr. M looked up and caught my eye.  She could see mine becoming a little leaky.  And behind those sexy, smart-girl glasses that she wears, i could see that i wasn’t alone…

image from the geniuses at despair

“That which does not kill me postpones the inevitable”

 

* Ridiculously sexy cardiologist.  i’ve written about her beforeHere, and here, too.  And here, in a footnote… The massive “girl crush” i’ve had on her for the past few years has bloomed into “deep love” due to her ability to provide spectacular care as both a cardiologist and integrating physician for my mother – while demonstrating sincere concern for her as a human being.  She is not a doctor.  She is a goddess…

** True to form, however, she was not feeling so crappy that she didn’t race to a table in our favorite pre-cardiology visit restaurant, and then clean her plate of all food molecules prior to leaving…  We are not “wasting away” people.  Far from it.

Unloading inventory

During a long weekend visit with me last year, Mom brought a list of the items she keeps in her two safe deposit boxes. She asked me to type them up for better record keeping. Amongst the items were 649 half-dollar coins, dating from 1966 to 1979. 

As we sat in the living room, and i typed away on the laptop, she proceeded to tell me how much those Kennedy half-dollars could be worth.

daisyfae: Well, hell, i can look up estimated values for them. Let’s see what they’re going for!

Much to her disappointment, they are barely worth more than face value. Quick surf showed that the only ones NOT going for face value were the ’66-’69 coins, getting maybe $3 each.  Total estimate?  About $525 for the lot.  This reminded me of my adventures in selling her Avon collection a couple of years before…

During an early round of excavations at her home, we unearthed a monstrous amount of Avon items. Boxes in closets, under beds, stashed in rodent-chewed boxes in the outdoor shed. Most of the boxes were unopened, in the original packaging. During the 70’s and 80’s, Mom had an Avon dealer who had convinced her that “These things are going to be worth a lot of money someday”.

In order to get Mom to turn this stuff loose, i offered to document her collection in a spreadsheet, then do some research to find out what the items were worth. Even figure out where to sell them. In the end, i carted about 20 good-sized boxes of this crap back to my home.

Purchasing “The Avon Collectors Bible”, i set to work identifying each item, estimating the condition, and tallying up the results.

This. Took. Months. 

Many. Fucking. Months.

At the end of a tedious slog through smelly stacks of mildew-encrusted boxes, my spreadsheet estimated the value to be about $1,800. For the period of time i was immersed in this shit – i was an expert on the alleged value for a variety of glassware and decorative items that are essentially very, very ugly.

It was a nicely organized spreadsheet. i set about advertising the collection. Various bulletin boards, Avon collectible websites, as well as a cursory look at eBay….

Nope. Nothing. Not even a nibble. The mice in the shed had demonstrated far more interest in this crap.

It turns out the United States of America is awash in Avon collectibles. Middle-aged children of packrat mothers who bought the lie of the product pushers are all trying to unload truckloads of this shit. This junk was sold to housewives who had no other prospects for retirement income. They believed it was going to give them a nice nest egg for their golden years.

A nice nest for mouse turds, is more like it…

Keeping Mom apprised of the status of my efforts, she was frustrated with my lack of success. She believed they had value. She would not accept that thousands of my father’s hard-earned dollars had been wasted on kitschy glass bottles full of shitty cologne.

When i had the garage sale, i made my last attempt at moving some of them for cash. The Collectors Plates, which Mom had purchased for $25-$35 back in the 1970’s were allegedly worth $30-$40 each. And she had 30 of them….

Trying one last time, i couldn’t even unload the blasted things for $1 each. It all went to Goodwill for recycling. i lied to my Mom, however, telling her i found a buyer. Wrote her a check for $500. From my own bank account.

Mom: That’s all? It was worth a lot more than that. Can’t believe you couldn’t get more for all that…

Pretty sure i’m not going to offer to unload all of those half-dollar coins for her…