Gill, I apologize for criticizing or calling you out for every annoying little thing you did while you lived with me. Please come back and save me from your siblings!
It’s not that I don’t love them or don’t appreciate all they do to help, but when you were here, I was still (nominally at least ) in charge. Now, they have ‘organized’ me to the point where I cannot find a thing.
Take yesterday for example. In a rare and, in retrospect, ill-considered decision, I opted to forego my usual summer lunch of smoked salmon with cream cheese on rye, throw caution to the winds and treat myself to cream cheese on a bagel with dried tarragon leaves. I opened my spice drawer to get the bottle of tarragon and…lo and behold, it wasn’t there. It(or a fresher version of it) has been in the same place for at least five years .
“Okay, everybody up against the wall!” I yelled. It fell on deaf ears. L’il Sis was at work and Crazy D was off on another cycling adventure somewhere in Southwestern Ontario…to return somewhere, somehow, sometime unbeknownst to me. I certainly don’t monitor his comings and goings and it’s not as though he’s riding into a tornado or anything, never to return again.He’ll be back to solve the mystery of the missing tarragon. Oh, you say there IS a tornado watch where he’s going? Oops…
The mixup with my tarragon could have been a simple matter of miscommunication. When my kids say they are going to ‘organize’ me, what they really mean is that they are going to throw out MY stuff and replace it with THEIRS. This happens with my food, clothes, ’emergency supplies’, plastic storage buckets, garden tools. They always have a better, more efficient, tidier, cheaper way of doing things. The problem is, I LIKE doing it the same way I have for years. It may be inefficient and make no sense to anyone else, but it’s MINE! Gill understood this concept. After the first couple of weeks of trying to change my routines or habits, she gracefully gave it up as a lost cause and we carried on doing what we wanted to do.I was (sort of) in charge of the household and she let me be. A win-win.
And most of all, if I bitched and moaned about something (my allergies come to mind), she’d just say, “Now you know how I felt as a kid with miserable allergies! You’ll get no sympathy here!” And she’d stomp off leaving me in my own misery. Peacefully. Blowing my nose until it’s raw. Blubbering.
But with L’il Sis here, she wants to fix me. And she has a hippie-dippy remedy for everything. When I got up today complaining of a terrible sleep since I couldn’t breathe and my nose was dripping like a faucet, she took charge. “You haven’t been drinking that fancy nettle tea I bought for you, have you? It really helps with allergies! You are so stubborn.” Let me just say, I appreciate her concern and help. But the tea smells like old socks and tastes almost as bad. I choke it down when she’s watching me. Then she leaves for work, admonishing The Pig (the beagle) to make me drink the tea all day. “If you look sad all day, Grandma will remember to drink the tea to make you happy.” Really? Really? This is what it has come to? First of all, I am NOT The Pig’s Grandma (well, not in public) and second, I just want my friggin’ tarragon back…you can keep your funny tea!