Hoarder

Full sized double rocking chair for a doll house.  19^th Century, wood, USA.

Not thinking in the abstract at all, but the house where we worked the last two weekends needs to be bulldozed.  That’s G’s opinion.  When the house gets sold and closes escrow, the united feeling is that The sheriff will come and move Brother John out onto the street. 

Actually everyone who was working there was a hero.  Dealing with a hoarder is an impossibility even with education and time.  I watched everyone react in their own way to this horror story with denial, anger, closing down.  No one has made an attempt to treat John with kindness….they are too horrified.  They have no time.  His mother died, and the house will go on the market Tuesday.  I don’t think he understands.

Two rooms are still wall to wall rotten stuff plus the yards.

“How long has that dune buggy been sitting out there in the driveway?”  George asked.

“Oh, a few years,” John said.

“When was the last time you worked on it?”

“I bought a gasket set for the motor last summer,” he told us, “but someone threw it away.”  Followed by endless excuses compounded by his alcoholism.

We aren’t going back next weekend.  We have excuses of our own.  No one has the money to hire a cleanup crew…and they exist.  No one has the time to wait while he does nothing with any of his mess.  The best I can do is be there to listen to Bobbie and commiserate.  We all agree John needs professional help.  I doubt if he will get it.

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Life is Really in the Footnotes:

The Geeeee-zer  Really worked his heart out moving things yesterday.  He was my hero.  We were so pooped when we got home that we fell asleep in front of the TV.

Herself:  I vastly overworked my hip even from a chair.  We would take things out of the house in trash bags, and Bobbies brother, John, would just open the bags and bring them back in again.  Tomorrow, second mammogram.

Reading:  ”The Wailing Wind,”  Tony Hillerman.

Balance:  Moving less today.