It took my dad two days of sleeping and being unable to walk before he
thought that he might need some assistance.  He appears to think "911"
is for people who are really in trouble, not him.  Ever since Mom
caught up with the mother ship, he's had the house to himself, its
quiet.  He likes that.  Mom's cats seem less neurotic now too.  Until
this illness I would call once a week...or he would.  My sister lives
nearby and is attentive to the point where it makes me and dad
uncomfortable.  She was all concerned because his doctor made a comment
about his prostate and I informed her that he would prefer that she
didn't even know he had one.  But the time is coming to get him out of
that house.  I've always hated that house.  I told my mom that if I
inherited half the house I would take a chain saw to my half and give
it what it deserves...assuming the termites leave me anything worth
destroying.  But the time is coming for him to move out.  Meanwhile he
has a girlfriend...its all going to be very complicated...isn't it?

Makes me look down the road a piece and see my daughters walking in the
shoes of their mother and aunts, same shoes worn by their
grandmothers...sort of.  I hope my son survives his misadventures in my
shoes.

Dad's house has an inside corner where rain water collects and finds
its way into the basement.  The recent weather was so great that it
over flowed the sump.  He's been battling water in the basement for a
couple of years now.  Its like a hobby.  He doesn't want to bring in a
contractor and deal with it outside...he'd rather play with masonry
cement in the basement.

-jc


On Thursday, February 27, 2003, at 06:45  AM, Ken Follett wrote:

> That's what my brother and I finally had to do for our childhood
> homeplace when it was time for Dad to simplify his
> life...role-reversal...we quit asking him, and told him what to do.
> Everything got much easier after that.
>
> I don't think we are quite at that point yet... we usually wait until
> the resident falls down and gets stuck behind the toilet for a day
> before we take action. Scots are an independent lot, you know. You
> don't want to be bossing them around too early. And I'm not too sure
> about the French/Seneca, either, my semi-paternal grandfather was
> working on his car and the brake let loose and he was pinned under it
> for an entire day out in the yard front of their house, with my
> grandmother inside the house listening to Texaco opera or something on
> the radio like that. He died from dehydration & exposure, not from the
> squawking music.
>
> ][<en
>