Warning - random - unplanned - just a conglomeration of thoughts . . .
I am so ready to get home. Home to Austin that is. It may not be home as in where the family is but it feels like home to me. My parents are wonderful, don't get me wrong. They just have a way of pushing certain buttons that need to be left alone.
Some times, Dad believes he has to tell me where to go, how things work, how to do certain tasks . . . he has to be a dad no matter what. I don't know if it has to do with his feeling that he can't do anything so he might as well talk to me about it or if he honestly feels the need to tell me because he believes I need the help. He tells me everything from directions to certain places (it is practically impossible to get lost in this town) to what to buy and where.
I am an adult . . . right?
Other times, I wonder if my parents understand what I am saying. It reminds me of that scene that everyone quotes from "Waiting for Godot." Let's go. Yes, let's leave. (Stage direction - everyone stays still). You get the picture don't you?
We had to get a plumber to come see the drain pipe for the washer this week. The man was amazingly funny, from Louisiana, and did a great job. He also told me that the problem was a part on the washer that needs to be replaced. The drain pipe was OK . . . but the part creates a lot of water in the garage.
Today I set off to work on their washer . . . I did mention I've become Tim the tool man Taylor, right? So I take off the back of the washer . . . and I get the part . . . it won't come in until after January 7. So I put the washer back together. I mention not to use it, that it still leaks.
Dad proceeds to inform me that the plumber did not know what he was talking about that the drain pipe was the problem that the part probably broke later that this has been relatively recent that . . . well, I just had to leave it alone. Actually, after a bit of discussing the subject, I left it alone.
Honestly . . . its crazy around here.
The garage is full, full of boxes. Some with stuff from years ago that no one knows or even remembers whats in it. And the whole bottom layer of boxes is wet, and moldy and falling apart. But it was all the drain pipe's fault, right? I don't want to sound morbid . . . cause it does sound like that to me . . . I'm just not looking forward to opening those boxes after they die to see what was so important that they could not just chuck it.
Oh, forgot, funniest thing . . . my sister took motorcycle driving lessons. Have no idea f she wants to get one or not but the lessons were fun. I mentioned that I would love a motorcycle . . . mom practically fell apart. No, your sister is going to get one . . . why do you say that . . . cause she took the lessons . . . interesting jump to conclusions, mom, ever thought of asking her? . . . no, its none of my business.
Mom complains that she doesn't like to see me drinking (alcoholic drinks that is) - there are nights that it is not enough!
Dad has been getting worse about getting up and walking around. He does have a hard time getting up. Its on a three count by now. On the third try he finally gets up. He also falls asleep in no time . . . and wakes up talking to the dream (which freaks me out some days). Mom has sort of become his mom. And now mom is talking that she will finally retire. That this will be the last year teaching.Wonder what will happen next.
I know they love me, I know it. I also know they drive me crazy some days.
Thank you for listening . . . reading.
And in more uplifting news . . . I am a Great Uncle. Elena Clare was born on December 30.
Happy New year.
