Useless Wooden Sticks

The call came at 8:30 p.m. on Valentine’s Day.  The holiday of hearts. And of livers. Dad was having a liver transplant. We all knew the call would come, but no one ever knows exactly when. It’s an odd thing to wait around for someone else to die so that your loved one can live. I quickly packed for the trip home to be with mom, and to help prepare for dad’s discharge and long recovery.

Dad’s liver was successfully installed overnight, and an exhausted mom said to meet her at the house. She said dad would be asleep for several days, and had looked white as a ghost post-surgery. Mom didn’t look much better.

But I am home! It’s going to be okay! I am going to help! Then I realized there was nothing to help with. Mom and dad are completely self-sufficient. What now? I had nervous energy to burn until the trip to the hospital tomorrow. I needed to be busy. While mom made the obligatory phone calls to family and friends, I decided to clean dad's bedroom. When he is discharged in the next few weeks, he will have a clean room and freshly laundered bed. Good plan.

Dad, who snores like a motorboat, occupies the master suite. Mom moved across the hall ages ago, and appointed dad Cleaner of Your Own Room. Therefore, under the bed was a perfect rectangle of dust at least a half inch thick. In hindsight, it would have been better for me to roll the dust like sushi and carry it off rather than attempt to suck it into mom’s 1985 Oreck. Seconds later, I smelled burning rubber and saw sparks. I quickly stopped. The last thing I needed was to light the 1974 green shag carpet afire. What a great welcome-home stench this is going to be.

I abandoned the vacuum, stripped the bed and dragged the sheets to the basement washing machine. The mattress pad tag instructed me to use the delicate cycle, so I did. Mom was off the phone, so I told her I nearly burned down the house because her vacuum malfunctioned on a picnic blanket of dust. Grabbing a butter knife and screwdriver, she said, “The sweeper’s fine! It’s just the belt.” She marched up the stairs, turned the vacuum upside down and got busy. I am not even sure she unplugged it. Great. Two hospitalized parents is all I need.

With Granny MacGyver working on the Oreck, I cleaned dad’s bathroom. When the washing machine buzzed, I went to retrieve the sheets to find water all over the basement floor. What the ?!?!?!  As I located the sponge mop, I yelled up the stairs that the washer was broken. Mom scurried down: “The washer’s fine! Except the delicate cycle doesn’t work. Why did you use the delicate cycle?” Stress rising, I said “I don’t know mom, because I thought the delicate cycle might actually WORK like I expected the vacuum to WORK?” As I said this, the sponge snapped off the mop and I was left holding a useless wooden stick. Failing to keep my cool, I yelped, “EVERYTHING I TOUCH IS BROKEN!”  Mom said, “Nothing’s ever good enough for you kids,” while pulling a dingy string mop from the corner that had seen better days.

Mom and dad were raised in Lancaster County PA, the birthplace of Suck It Up And Move Along. Their shared youth was not a luxurious one, but one defined by hard work and hard times. They were raised to throw nothing away that could be fixed or eaten. Farm life in the 1940's and 50's made mom the most resourceful person I know. So resourceful, for example, that when bath towels get thin, she sews 2 together and makes one "new" towel to be used for eternity. She never throws a shirt away without removing and saving its buttons. Because one day, you might need a button. Or a trillion buttons. Either way, she can hook you up.

Anyway, I decided the stress over dad’s condition was getting to me, and peanut butter cookies would make everything better. As I relaxed and admired my good-looking dough, I ran the rubber spatula through it. Of course, the rubber blade lodged in the dough and the handle came off in my palm. For the second time that day, I was left holding a useless wooden stick. Feeling entirely defeated and on the verge of tears, I left my dough, went to the family room, and plopped into dad’s armchair. So much for “helping.” The only thing I needed right now was mindless TV. Oh wait, that’s right. Mom and dad don’t have cable.

Nothing that a butter knife and screwdriver can't fix.