TBT Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

 In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by. 

July 18, 2007

New World Order

Since Ma and Dad first were married 64 years ago, Ma managed the purse strings, and Dad got an allowance. Instead of working as a team, both of them have this silly “my money – your money” concept. Their system generally worked fine until about 20 years ago when Ma became addicted to the phony lotteries and scam artists, and she whizzed through their savings. She blithely writes checks without having the funds to cover them. The bank happily slaps her with finance charges though they are generous in charging only $5 per bounced check instead of the $35 per check most banks charge their customers. The finance charges add up to a tidy sum per month.

A city girl, born and bred, Ma hated the town they moved to. She wants to move. She wants to move back to East Boston and into an apartment for $100 per room. She wants her rent to be $300 or $400 per month, utilities included!

She wants to teach Dad a lesson so she issued him an ultimatum. She will no longer pay for "anything". So, Dad took her up on her challenge. He went to their bank, had his social security check removed from the direct deposit to Ma’s checking account. He went to another bank, opened up his own account and authorized his social security check to be direct deposited into the account. Yes, you can say it. It’s about #%@#@ time!

I was concerned initially he might not be able to handle the expenses, especially the property taxes which are paid quarterly.

He said he would be able to manage. "I'll do alright as long as I can hold her off."

"Her" I assumed was Ma. "What do you mean?"

"The other day she asked me to write out a check so she could send it to one of the scammers."

Altogether now, 

"What happened?"

"I told her 'No!'"

I think Dad's enjoying himself. Long live the King!

TBT Reprint from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by. 

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Close Cover Before Striking

I had to take Dad to an appointment at the V.A. to have his medication evaluated for a discount benefit.

Ma was industriously going through all her old junk mail sorting things to burn in the fireplace. I told her she shouldn't be burning anything in the fireplace. Ordinarily, I'd think a match would do wonders for the place, but it reeks of smoke. She won't open a door or window for ventilation because she complains of the cold, even when temperatures soar into the 90s.

She said she had to burn sweepstakes papers. She's convinced the mail carriers went through her trash. Someone won $10,000 earmarked for Ma, and to add insult to injury, they called Ma to tell her about it. 

Dad and I headed off down the road. When we got back, there was such a noxious, toxic smell. I told Ma she shouldn't burn anything. She said it was her house and she could do what she wanted.

Talking to Dad later, I asked him if he knew what she was tossing in the fireplace.

"She throws everything in there. She burns the Styrofoam plates we use and the liners from the meat."

Rolling Eyes

I have tried to tell her that Styrofoam is toxic, but my warnings fall on deaf ears. One can only hope that the neighbors will call the EPA to complain about the factory next door. I'm sure the chimney stack isn't the requisite height. In the mean time, might be worth it to invest in a gas mask.

TBT Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

One Ping, Only

June 21, 2007

Sunday. A Holy Day of Obligation. Pater Venite Adoremus, otherwise known as Father’s Day. Himself went to pick up the Weebles while I finished the cleaning frenzy, and meal preparations. Everything was moving on my schedule until I glanced at the clock. Himself and the Weebles should have arrived. Himself was supposed to sacrifice chicken breasts on the grill. The fire wasn’t started. The rolls were almost done and no sign of Himself and the Weebles. I was just about to go out and fire up the grill when they pulled up.

“Everything ok?” I asked Himself.

He looked to the Heavens in that familiar gesture that said, ‘Help me, Lord!’ “You can blog later,” he added with a wink.

All the parishioners of Our Lady for the Perpetually Clueless arrived. We gathered around the table and spent a pleasant, relaxed time eating and talking.

Ma has a habit of nodding off, more like zoning out, or so we thought. She sat at the head of the table, seemingly under the surface, her sonar silently pinging away until the talk turned to cars. The Boy mentioned he had two cars, and like the submarine, Seaview, breaching the waves, Ma came alert and she fired the number one torpedo.

“You have two cars, and you can’t come to take me shopping?”

[Some will recall that a year ago the Weebles were in a fender bender. Fortunately, they were shaken, not stirred, but their little green car was totaled, and I became the Elderbus driver.

True, it’s a pain in the ( ! ) sometimes, but there’s always a silver lining, besides blog fodder. See, it ain’t a bad thing that Dad can’t drive anymore. He had two accidents within four years, and both were his fault. He shouldn’t be on the road. Dad has his own OPD symptoms. He feels senior citizens are discriminated against. He hates that term, by the way. He feels it’s derogatory. He wants to be called an Elder. Dad is convinced the insurance company discriminated against him for both accidents simply because of his age. He’s convinced the accidents were not his fault.

The last accident was a blessing in disguise. Dad wouldn’t be one to realize he shouldn’t be driving anymore, and calmly hand over his car keys. Hell, I can remember as a teen asking to borrow the damn car keys and what a fight I had then! So, the Brother and I are spared that brouhaha. Dad has his car keys. No one has taken them from him. He doesn’t have a car, and no money to buy a new one. It’s not our fault. As I said, a pain in the ( ! ) from time to time, but in reality a blessing.]

An uncomfortable silence followed, and Ma subsided into teary sighs. “No one does anything for me.” She ladled out heaping helpings of guilt or tried to. The same old song and dance routine.

When Himself returned after taking the Weebles home, I asked him to tell me why they were so late in arriving.

I thought perhaps, Ma was in her I’m not going mood. Dad had called me earlier in the morning to say she didn’t want to come. Dad speculated he had done something wrong, but didn’t know what, and Ma was trying to punish him. More likely, she was jealous it was Father’s Day. We had already celebrated Mother’s Day so she didn’t care whether Dad got his due or not.

Himself and I discussed our options. Himself could go pick Dad up and leave Ma home. Not good. There’d be hell to pay all around. We could cancel the Weebles and enjoy the day with just the Brother and his family. While enjoyable for us, not good in the long run as there’d be hell to pay. I called back, spoke to Ma and dropped the hole card. “Everything’s nearly ready. The TEN chicken breasts are marinating, the dough for the rolls are nearly done. I’ve made a salad. Himself made a bean salad. He’ll be leaving in a half an hour. Will you be ready when he arrives?” I can play the game too. Nothing like a hot dish of guilt.

“We were late because your mother had to stop at the bank to deposit a check.”

“Stop at the bank? Why? She doesn’t have any money until the next social security check arrives.”

“Remember I told you she had that prize check from the Zenith Corporation?”

I felt the familiar throbbing behind my left eye. The damn scammer checks from the phony contests she receives. The bank finally got fed up with her pestering them to cash the checks. They opened a “special” account for her to deposit her prize winnings in. This way, what little they have in savings and checking won’t be wiped out by scammers gaining access to their real account. So far, only one check cleared. That was the one where I had called the postal inspector. That scammer knew he was being investigated so after 3 weeks, he made good on that check for $250.00

I feel I should be lighting candles. I’m not sure whether I should pray she hits millions. She can thumb her nose at all of us who didn’t believe in her. She can buy her own car. She can buy her own chauffeur. I can pray Ma is picked up by the Feds for trying to pass phony checks. They’ll put her in the slammer, and then she’ll be their problem. I can pray. Help me, Lord!

TBT Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

 In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

June 01, 2007

All Around the Elderly Bush

Himself opened the door and headed to the bedroom.

"So, how are the Weebles?" I cheerfully called.

I heard a muffled groan sounding something like "argh".

"What happened? Do you need an aspirin?"

"No."

"Do you need to blog?"

A chuckle.

"What happened?"

"I went to the Weebles to mow the lawn. Your mother was still in her bathrobe. I didn't see your dad. Figured he was roaming around town. Went to get the lawnmower started and blue smoke poured out of it."

"That doesn't sound good."

"Anyway, I got the mower going and mowed the front. Got to the back and there's your dad standing on a ladder trimming the bushes!"

I shook my head.

"I told him, 'If you fall and kill yourself and Herself finds out I was here when it happened, she'll kill me'"

I laughed.

"He started singing he wished he was dead song. I made him get off the ladder, I finished the lawn and then trimmed the bushes. The bushes were too wide. I couldn't reach all the way to the back so I told him he would have to do the trimming from the inside. He started going on how he would have to climb on the desk under the window. Then he asked me to wash the stairs. "

"I thought you needed a special solution to take the masonry residue off the stairs?"

"Nah, I could use vinegar. So I found a steel brush in the garage, and he got the vinegar. Your mother came to the door as I was scrubbing. She said, 'Don't do that! I need you to take the old man to the bank and the post office'"

"The post office? I gave her a whole roll of stamps with the new postage! I told her that!"

"I know. Your dad was trying to count out pennies so he could buy the extra postage stamps. I told him that her letters didn't need extra postage. He didn't believe me so I sent him into the post office to ask the clerk, and of course, extra postage was not needed."

"What a surprise. Why did he have to go to the bank? Their checks don't come in until the first of the month. She doesn't have any money."

"Well, she had this check 'they' sent her for $4,000. She wanted him to deposit the check and if the bank wouldn't cash it, she wanted him to bring the check back. She's convinced the bank is cheating her."

I borrowed a phrase from Himself. "Help me, Lord. Did the bank cash the check?"

"He went in, but came right out. Said there was a long line, the girls were busy, and he didn't want to bother them. Y'know, one of those checks is going to be for a loan or something."

"I know," I sighed.

"I told your dad he should tear up the contest entries and throw them away. She'd never know. He said your mother would kill him. Actually, that might be a win situation for him. He'd be dead and get his wish. What's for lunch?"

TBT: Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

 In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Sunday, March 04, 2007

The Day the Checks Stood Still

I had a nice chat with the postal inspector, and though he couldn't help, he was sympathetic. He's been chasing after the scammer that sent Ma the $250 check. According to him, "the guy is a big player." He chuckled when I told him I hoped Ma got burned. Some people just need to learn lessons the hard way. He also told me if I wanted to tell her a story, to frighten her into stopping the lottery nonsense, he would back me up. Anything I told her. Even if I told her she was on the postal inspector wanted list for passing bad checks. As I said, there wasn't much he could do, but I felt better after talking to him.

I had a dream that Ma finally got the message about the checks. My dream was like watching a movie. The Day the Checks Stood Still. Michael Rennie reprieved his role as Klaatu, galactic ambassador along with his robot side-kick, Gort.

With Ma in front of him, Klaatu gave her a stern warning. "It doesn't mean you have to give up any freedoms, except the freedom to act irresponsibly. It is no concern of ours how you run your own finances, but if you threaten to extend your nonsense by trying to cash illegal scam checks, we will have no choice but to reduce your house to a burned out cinder."

Ma had several checks in her hand, and asked Klaatu to give Dad a ride to the bank so the old man could deposit the checks.

Klaatu looked at Gort. "Gort, barringe."

The visor on Gort's helmet slowly raised, his laser flickered and began to burn to full power.

I didn't get to see the end of the movie as I woke up.

TBT: Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

 In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

 

Saturday, March 03, 2007

Juggling Monkeys

I thought I would have a free and clear day. There was nothing marked on the calendar on the fridge. I'd get the Young One to school, the Eldest to work, and then I'd be able to settle in and work on the book project. Maybe even have it finished by the end of the week.

As the Young One got ready for school, I took my morning tea and booted up my square headed spouse. The hum of the disk drive spinning up was meditative. The desktop widgets blinked to life. The Heath birthday countdown calender. Big Bopper's cheery "Helloooo, Baby!", the day's weather, monthly calendar, and the day planner. My eyes popped out of my head. It couldn't be. A 10:30 Weeble doctor's appointment? We were just there a week ago! It must be a mistake! Yes, that's it! A mistake. I marked the wrong date.

Before I left to take the Eldest to work, I made the mistake of calling the Weebles. Ma answered the phone.

"Do you have a doctor's appointment today?"

"Yes, at 10:30."

My heart sank at the loss of productive me time. At least I'm good at juggling monkeys.

Ma must have been in a good mood because she was yelling at Dad when I got to the house. She went to get dressed and Dad and I had a few minutes alone.

"Did that check clear?"

"No, the bank is still holding it."

"Do you still have the letter from the postal inspector?"

"What for?"

"Because I want to give him a call."

Dad gave the letter to me, one spy making a drop to another.

Ma's good mood held as we left the house. She yelled at Dad as she tried to maneuver around the metal folding chair that was on one side of the stairs. The bricks had come loose so she wanted to make sure no one would kill themselves on the loose bricks. Course, I don't know what she'll put out so people won't kill themselves on the metal folding chair. I helped Ma down the stairs. 

She took another breath in the car and began singing the "Your Stupid" song to Dad. I looked in the rearview mirror, and he was feverishly making the sign against evil. She sang repeated choruses from the parking lot to the lobby to the doctor's waiting room.

"Enough!" I yelled at her. "This is not the time or the place for that! Sit over here!" I'm not sure whether I'm their parent or the referee. The waiting room was fairly quiet so I wandered back to say hello to the lab tech and to hold an OPD Support Group meeting.

"Weren't you here last week?"

"Yeah, that was to see the middle toe doctor. This week they're here to see the big toe doctor."

"How are they today?"

I took a cautious peek around the corner. Ma was nodding off in her chair, and Dad was flipping through the pages of a magazine. "Good. Today, they're being good. How's your mother?"

"Oh, she's just wonderful! She had an operation, and it's like she's a new woman."

I wondered if the procedure was similar to what happens to the pod people in The Body Snatchers, but as I was about to ask, patients came in so I went to sit down in the waiting room.

As I was just getting engrossed into the latest happenings of the characters in the book I'm reading, another weeble lady sat down next to me. She was terribly concerned with the goings on of the trial for the body of Anna Nicole Smith. I refrained from rolling my eyes, smiled politely and turned back to my book. She didn't seem to notice, but happily kept on chattering.

A half an hour had drifted by, but the doctor hadn't sailed in. Rather frosts my fanny the office books appointments at 10:30 but the doctor doesn't show up for another half an hour or so.

Finally the doctor arrives and calls them into the exam room. My waiting room weeble neighbor asks me what time my appointment is.

"Oh, I don't have an appointment, I'm just the chauffeur."

The Weebles are in an out before I've finished my sentence. Ma had fallen earlier in the week. This now being a weekly occurence. She handed the doctor's prescription to me. He had written a prescription for Advil and Ben Gay. 

"We can go to the Stop and Shop to get these," I told her.

Dad decided to come in to the store with me to get the "prescription filled.

"Would she mind the generic Advil and Ben Gay because it would save you a few dollars?"

"No! You better get the real stuff, because they'll be hell to pay if it's not exactly what the doctor ordered." I rolled my eyes, but got the items. We headed to the check out. "Do you need anything while we're here? Bread, milk, juice? The bank?"

He shook his head.

I dropped them off at the house and was on my way home in hopes of salvaging some of my work day.

"Before you go, give your father a ride downtown to the bank?"

"To the bank? We were just there!" (there's a branch bank at the Stop and Shop) I roared. "Why does he need to go to the bank downtown?"

"I got another check for $2000 and he needs to deposit it."

I silently borrowed a phrase from Himself. No, not horse's patoot! Help me, Lord! All morning Ma and I had been dancing around the issue of the check. Both of us desperately wanted to tell each other "I told you so!" but the jury was still out for both of us.

Dad turned me toward the door as I was still sputtering. 

"You go on. I can walk. I need to get a haircut."

Yes, a walk would do him good. It would get him away from her for a couple of hours. He didn't need to hear the "Your Stupid" song being hammered out like "The Anvil Chorus." I was going back to the Stop and Shop to pick up a bottle of baby aspirin to eat on the ride home.

TBT: Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

  In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Sunday, February 25, 2007

Dance Band on the Titanic

The scam man phoned again only didn't leave a message on the voice mail. I had done a reverse look up on the first number he left, but that only told me it was a land line in NY. This time, I had a company name and number. I looked up the company in BB and found this company does business under 49 other names and all sweepstakes. Red flags went up. If one of his companies is sending junk to Ma, so are the others. The BB didn't have much useful information. The company did not have an unusual amount of complaints lodged against it.

A week or so ago, Ma had received a letter from a US Postal inspector about one of the checks she received as a prize. Because I don't get a complete story, I wasn't sure if the inspector's letter concerned the check Ma tried to cash on Tuesday.

I called Dad to try to find out the particulars. Only to find, she cashed the $250 check plus a few others she had. Seems she went crying to the neighbor next door to take her to the bank. Help me, Lord! The bank opened a second checking account for her, and all the checks were deposited into this new account. She was told she couldn't have access to the funds for at least a week.

I feel like I'm in the dance band on the Titanic.

I have a sick feeling about what will happen, but can't do anything but play the tune. The worse thing is if, on the long shot, one or all of the checks she deposited are legitimate, there will be no end to Ma's "I told you so." I can just hear her chortle and gloat. Depending on the time of day, God, Nostradamus, and her father have told her she will be a rich woman. She is, but she's looking in the wrong places.

So she took a gamble and maybe, just maybe, she beat the odds. I wish her Buona fortuna! The worst thing is the addiction will become even stronger. But Fortune's wheel swings round. Most gamblers know the House always wins. Always. In the mean time, I stand on the deck with The Dance Band on the Titanic by H. Chapin

TBT: Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

 In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Friday, February 23, 2007

Thursday's Child

The sun was shining and though cold, it promised to be a beautiful day. Dad's eye doctor appointment had been changed from 10am to an hour earlier, and I was unable to give him a ride. I pushed down the momentary guilt and reveled in the thought I had crossed an imaginary international date line and gained a day. Since I didn't have a Weeble run, I had an extra day to work on the roll call book. Yes, it promised to be a perfect day.

I told the Young One I would do some work on the book, and we could spend the afternoon at the mall having lunch and shopping. In the middle of lettering, the phone rang and on the fourth ring the call was sent to voice mail. Most times, these calls are from telemarketers and charities. On the off chance it was the Eldest calling for a ride home from work because another water main broke, I dialed into the voice mail and saw red. Steam poured from my ears.

Seems Ma wasn't happy with the bank telling her the $250 check didn't seem kosher, she called the scam man who issued the check, and gave him my phone number so he could talk to me! I felt the blood pounding in my ears. How dare she! How dare she put me in the middle of her OPD stupidity! I paced, cursed, and spoke in tongues. I said the eff word several hundred times.

Long ago, and through the hard way, I learned to continue with my work if I was unhappy or in a bad mood, was disastrous. The work came through my hands in ugly puddles and rivers and would only need to be redone. Since I was writing in a book, I couldn't take the chance pages could easily be removed in order to redo. No sense trying to work with flames shooting from my eyes.

Just as I collected keys and kid, the phone rings. No psychic or caller ID to tell me the call was from Ma. She danced around the reason for the call. I didn't mention her scammer had called earlier. Finally, she told me about that damn check. I old her she's never to give my phone number out to anyone.

"I don't care if the Pope himself wants my number. You're not to give it out! Do you understand?"

She whined the man told her the check was good, and she should cash it. She was like a dog worrying a bone and no amount of reasoning or cajoling was going to work.

"If you want to cash the check, cash the damn check!"

I felt the familiar throbbing behind my left eye. I was determined she was not going to spoil the rest of the day. I wasn't  able to work, but I could enjoy the afternoon with my kid. It was near lunch time and I told the Young One we were going to be very naughty. We were going to have ice cream for lunch and the world could go to hell in a hand basket. The Young One was thrilled.

The weather was sunny and pleasant for a winter day. There was a feeling of Spring in the air. We went to the ice cream parlor, and I was disappointed to find there were no tables to enjoy the decadent treat inside. I wasn't adventurous enough to eat my ice cream outside. No worries. I promised the Young One we would be naughty. We headed to the bookstore. I ordered cups of chai and a double chocolate cheesecake slice for her, and a heated cinnamon bun for me. I tried to concentrate on the delight of the Young One and not Ma and that damn check. I wished I could make the draft spontaneously combust or to find a way to reason with Ma. Thursdays' child has far to go. (I was born on a Thursday.)

TBT Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

  In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Tuesday's Child is Full of Grace

I had Tuesday all neatly planned. Ma and Dad had a doctor's appointment mid-afternoon. Since it was school vacation week, I thought I'd drag take my Young One (born on a Tuesday) with me for a visit with Grandma before the appointment. I planned an hour and a half visit. We'd sit, have tea, whine and I'd score points as the Golden Child for bringing the grandchild for a visit. Perfect.

My plans didn't work out the way the way I had choreographed things in my head. They rarely do, but I'm ever hopeful. The minute we walked through the door, Ma wanted to go to the bank. I don't think she even noticed the Young One with me. She urgently needed to go to the bank to cash a check.

Every family has a skeleton, dirty secret, or crazy relative hidden in the attic. The dirty secret in my family is Ma is addicted to bogus lotteries, psychics, contests all promising prize money and riches. The amounts she sends out are small but over time it has added up to a hefty chunk of change. She dreams, wishes and talks about money. As if there's a celestial slot machine that will rain quarters on her. I'm reminded of the line from The Quiet Man "Money! Is that all you Danahers think of? I'm sick of the talk of it."

So that was the reason we had to dash to the bank. "Someone" had sent her a check for $250. No amount of telling her these things are scams penetrate gold fever. If I try to point out these letters with their checks (and we're not talking about one or two, but stacks and stacks) are scams or equity loans, she yells I have no faith in her. She's right, I don't. But "someone" has sent her the check, and she has to get to the bank. There is no reasoning with her. She's like a spoiled child hounding and whining for a treat. Some children need to learn lessons the hard way. I take her to bank so she can cash the damn check. Let some scam artist drain the account. It's bound to happen sooner or later, let it be sooner. I can have the satisfaction of saying "I told you so."

The Young One and I wait in the car, me with my book and the Young One with an electronic game. We are startled when the car door is wrenched open. It's only Grandpa speaking in tongues. Grandma must have started singing the "You're Stupid" song at the bank. Grandpa takes a few deep breaths and then goes back into the bank as Ma will need help coming out. The Young One and I watch from the car window. Soon Ma and Dad come out. The Young One remarks that Grandma looks sad.

"The teller wouldn't cash the check!" She is upset and very unhappy.

"And why is that?" I know the answer. I hope having a stranger tell her what we've been telling her all along will have finally sunk in.

"She said it looked funny and she wouldn't cash it. She said we need to go to the bank at the mall and have them cash it."

"No! The check is illegal. We don't have time to go to the mall and make it to the doctor's appointment."

"Why would she tell me to go to bank at the mall?"

Because if she told you to go to hell, she'd lose her job. "Because she didn't want to deal with a pain in the ( ! ) customer who wouldn't listen to her her when she said there was something wrong with the damn check.

Ma was not happy, but her mood improved when she came out of the doctor's office. She was beaming. The doctor told her for her 88 years old she is in top shape. He cut back her heart medication. She also has the blood pressure of a 25 yr. old woman. Dad also had a good report, much to his chagrin. Good news, the two of them are going to live forever.

Back at the house, she wants to find the envelope the check came in. I feel the familiar throbbing of the vessel behind my left eye. She has the blood pressure of a 25 yr. old woman. I can feel mine start to skyrocket.