Saturday, June 07, 2008

I Really Don’t Need This

Friday night, as usual, started at El Rio (one of several local Mexican restaurants). I was on the bike, whose odometer turned to 5000 miles on the way. But on the way home, I saw coming the other way: an ambulance (with no lights), Mrs. Fetched’s mom’s van, and an Emergency Services truck. That’s not a good sign, I thought. I got home, called down to the house, and Daughter Dearest answered the phone.

“Is everything OK?”

“No,” she said, “but we’ll be home in a few minutes and tell you what’s going on.”

It turned out to be Mrs. Fetched’s granny, visiting from Rome (Georgia). At age 95, she’s been doing pretty well except for short-term memory and some of the other things that come with aging. She was getting pale and having chest pains, so they called 911. Her blood pressure was also pretty high, plus an irregular heartbeat to go along with that, so off to the hospital in Gainesville with her. After the obligatory repair at the chicken houses, we gathered up some things and headed over there. Granny was in pretty good spirits, considering a very real possibility that she would be leaving the place feet first (the cardiologist gave her 50-50 odds). Fluid in her lungs added another complication. Fortunately, they were able to figure out it was a congestive heart failure issue, so they put her on Lasix and some medication for the blood pressure. In a matter of hours, she looked her old self again — considering that it was 1:30 a.m. by this time, that was quite a feat. They’ll be moving her out of ICU tonight or tomorrow, and into a private room for at least a day or so.

With that out of the way, we got moving waaaay too early. The girlies went to the chicken houses; I went and hunted up some more huckleberries then made pancakes & bacon for their eventual return. I also put some pop rivets in the composter so it wouldn’t come apart, and mowed the lawn. Then I went guy-shopping with my father-in-law while the girlies napped this afternoon: he wanted to go to Tractor Supply for sprayer parts; I needed to get oil & a filter for the bike and an air filter for the car.

It was barely 5 p.m. and I was pretty hungry; high-carb breakfasts don’t stick around very long. I fired up the grill and did some burgers, then back to the chicken houses for more repair work after supper. While we were there, a car belonging to one of The Boy’s band-buddies went out and then in. “Let’s go down and see what they’re doing,” Mrs. Fetched said.

There were four cars parked near where The Boy has built a fire ring… and The Boy and J were in the middle of a beer-chugging contest. After Mrs. Fetched’s dad told him that no drinking was to be going on down there. He didn’t even stop when we pulled up, and should have been able to hear us coming from a long way off because the truck has a perforated exhaust manifold. His excuse, “It was only one.” (TB05) The only one we saw, anyway.

We left, and Mrs. Fetched decided to let her dad know about it. Then she dumped on me the job of riding down there with her dad… she’s really good about letting me take the heat for her decisions. Whatever. He ranted at The Boy for a while, then drove the long way around the pond (perhaps looking for other signs of trouble) and left. This is the guy who wants to put up campsites around the pond — a no-alcohol policy won’t exactly attract lots of paying customers, IMO, but I’m not going to waste my breath.

So The Boy calls the house. “I just wanted to say thanks for ruining Cousin Splat’s birthday party.” (TB09)

You ruined it. You knew not to bring beer down there.”

“It was only one.” (as if there wouldn’t have been more… lots more… if they were going to have a birthday party there) “But I don’t understand why you have to make a big deal out of it.”

“I didn’t. But don’t try putting this on me. You were the one down there drinking, not me.”

“Oh, it’s on you alright.” (TB09 again) I guess the next time you see me, I’ll be coming to get my $#!+, because you have to be effing a$$h0l3s.”

Very little useful information was exchanged after that. But I’m done with him. I’m even done talking with him, at least until he can apologize and start taking responsibility for his own actions. We’ve also nobbled the Pontiac so it won’t start, not like there’s any gas in it anyway, until we get the key back.

9 comments:

  1. Gee, Far! I can't see how your heart can take it, poor devil....I really feel for ya buddy...

    Thanks, yooper

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  2. Kind of like farming, Yooper. You get used to it after a while. :-)

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  3. {{FAR}} Wow... I'm so sorry. That's just Friday and Saturday?

    I hope things go better today.

    xxoo
    katie

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  4. Ditto KB's words. I hope that things get better for you, Far.

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  5. The "boy" isn't ever going to change until both of you stick to your guns and kick him to the curb. Unless he's bleeding from his ears and eyes, I'd cut him completely out of the family and don't allow him back on the property for 2 years. Get a restraining order, and if he sets foot there, call the cops. I'm not kidding, it's time he grows up and if it means not seeing him for a while, it's better for everyone.

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  6. Solar,

    Is FAR your brother? I can see why you feel as you do. I know my siblings and mister's siblings felt the same way when our trouble boy was at his worst.

    But with trouble boys (and girls too, I guess) there's always something. In the case of The Boy, he's got diabetes. And cutting him off completely for 2 years could man that something irreversible could happen & FAR & Mrs. Fetched wouldn't know anything about it until it was WAY too late.

    Also, (again speaking from my won experience) ranting by siblings doesn't exactly help.

    (tucking my head under my arm and sliding off to mind my own business)

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  7. Actually, guys, I think he's busy packing up his stuff & moving it to a house he & some friends are renting. With any luck, he's outta the house on his own hook.

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  8. Hey FAR, I tend to agree w/most of what Solar said, but I probably couldn't be that harsh re: the restraining order.

    Maybe the solution is to make clear to him that he's on his own getting out any future scrapes. There's nothing like a cold, wet slap of the fist of reality to shock one into towing the line. Easier said than done, I know, but at some point he has to get there.

    We ordinary folks can't take the time, effort and delusion to create such 'bubbles' around us. Whenever I hear the retort it's all good, my hackles go up and the true curmudgeon comes out in me.

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  9. What IVG says. Except to add that "no worries" does the same thing to me.

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