Patience

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Monday, February 13, 2017

Today I am grateful for patience.  And we are going to need every drop of it as we finish up the details of my mom’s move.  Today I got a call from her old apartment manager.

 

When we left the other day, after cleaning out the debris, we turned on the self-cleaning oven.  Yup, you guessed it.  The apartment filled with smoke, setting off the smoke alarms and the fire department was called to blow out the smoke.  Swell.  This apartment manager is not what I’d call a nice person. . .or even a human, so I wanted to phone slap her when she said in saccharine tones, “I just wanted you to not be surprised when you went over there.”  Really?  Here’s what she meant.  “I’m warning you there is NOTHING you can do to get your security deposit back because I’d rather burn the money on the sidewalk in front of the capital building than give your  mother, whom I’ve despised, one more breaks, so know that my list of infractions is mounting.”  Yeah, I don’t like her much either.  I wanted to say to her, “At least it doesn’t smell like cigarette smoke anymore. . .BITCH!”

 

Himself and I are off to do the fridge and freezer. And a few odds and ends.  I’m going to focus on how happy my mom was to have her nails done.  I’m still searching for patience, but I think when they passed that out I was in the hip line twice.

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