Fightin' Words

The saga of the dining room furniture continues. I thought I'd share with you some of Sunday's missives that began with a voicemail from the antiques dealer, here to forth referred to as The Misogynist:

"The buyer couldn't make it yesterday or today, so if you still want to do this, we're on for next Saturday."

Me to husband. Hmm. I don't even want to speak to this discourteous man. I think I'll email him. So I do:

Dear Mr. Antiques Dealer,

I gave up many hours of my week to prepare the dining room set for the sale you were listing. After waiting all morning yesterday for both you to arrive at 11:15 AM as scheduled, and the seller, who was to arrive at noon, I had to call you after noon to find out that the sellers were not in contact with you. My time off work is valuable to me and I hate to waste it.

Subsequently, I choose now to remove my dining room suite from your listing. Please notify the buyer, who you have told me has asked to buy this, but has not actually submitted the funds, that it is no longer available for sale.

Sincerely,

Nurse Rudee

And I go about my afternoon knitting...la-la-la-la-la...

Later that day:

Dear Nurse Rudee:

I am sorry for your being upset at me but this is not within my control as the buyer is. I called late Saturday night and at 9:00AM to the buyer. I did my duty to pin the eBay auction buyer down to find out when she would arrive. Believe it or not my schedule is busier than yours with the preparation of 7 major estate sales and working within a home in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan. I currently am working about 70 hours a week and was willing to drop everything I was working on to drive to Berkley.

The eBay buyer says she will obtain a truck to pick up dinning room suite this coming Saturday.

In all fairness I would not think that anyone would feel the eBay Buyer should have picked the furniture up on Saturday as it did not stop raining until

3:30PM and heavy snowfall Saturday evening and black ice all over the metro area up until 12:00Noon.

You did sign a consignment agreement form for me to market it on eBay and legally the eBay buyer purchased the set accordingly. If you refuse to sell from an eBay buyer than she can give me a negative rating which can impact my business opportunity to continue selling on eBay.

I could require for them to pay for it now on eBay either through paypal or on charge card at the gallery. Believe it or not I am only earning a 15% commission once eBay, Paypal and or charged on credit card. My time it is not worth all this aggravation also.

Like yourself this dinning suite sale is not worth my time also but I have this strong work ethics to serve people and make this world a better place in which we live.

I would recommend to you I would demand that she pay for it now or before the end of the week by Wednesday and or the burden is on her to pick it up according to your schedule.

Respectfully,

The Misogynist

I have highlighted the points that I took offense to. So now we have being stood up without a call, my furniture being called unworthy, and a big fat name dropping moron to top it all off. He had no problem taking my money for the appraisal, but now the $600 he stands to earn is apparently not worth his time. Obviously. He was so busy he couldn't even stop to use spell check and now I have a dinning room suite to sell. Is that a room with loud noise? Ugh.

So I knit. Tightly. And I stewed for a bit and then shot off my reply:

Dear Mr. Misgogynist,

Please, I don't wish for an argument here. I've decided not to sell my items after all.

Frankly, I am offended that you would think my time is not valuable and would leave me hanging without notification as though it's not worth another thought. How unprofessional! Yes, you have many estate sales pending, but we both work full time, too, and our off time is precious. I missed one morning commitment to accommodate you already, and now you would like me to do the same for next week. I spent many hours this week preparing my furniture for pick up on Saturday, and you did not have the courtesy to let me know that nothing would happen.

Please submit to me the proof that this buyer has purchased these items that you deem worthless and not worthy of your time to sell immediately and I will reconsider. If you can prove to me that money has exchanged hands, then I will of course sell the items. At the time of pick up, I will insist on being paid in cash.

Sincerely,

Overly Patient Nurse Rudee

To which he inelegantly replied...

Dear Nurse Rudee:

I did not say your time was valuable you stated that. I would recommend re-reading the first email that I sent you that should clarify your statements that are not factual and without merit.

You stated that your items are worthless and not myself.

Here's my proof!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here he includes a picture of his ebay page that states the item has sold, but really? He's not in receipt of any funds, so it's incomplete.

Still, I'm not unreasonable. I just want an apology from him for wasting my time. I will sell it if I must now, but I want to hear him say, I'm sorry, so I point out one of his insults:

Dear Mr. Obstinent Misogynist,

So in your opinion, I should disregard your wording when you plainly state this?

"Like yourself this dinning suite sale is not worth my time also but I have this strong work ethics to serve people and make this world a better place in which we live."

This is a completely frustrating situation and instead of acknowledging that you are wrong to treat any costumer so poorly, you continue to insult. Please, this matter is over. Your voice mail of this morning indicated that the decision is mine whether to continue or not. I've chosen not to do so. I thank you for your time and effort in this matter.

Sincerely,

OPNR

To which he responds, now clearly threatening and nasty:

Dear Nurse Rudee:

Unfortunately this matter is not over. Whether you decide to sell your dinning suite or not you violated a contract agreement. I sold this item at your request on eBay which is a legal and a binding auction purchase agreement.

If you do not sell it you still owe me a 30% commission on a sale of $ 1950.00 which equals approximately $ 585.00 plus court costs and damages for negative ratings for future sales which could amount into thousands of dollars of lost sales. This does not preclude a counter suite by the purchaser.

If you do not honor this agreement my legal counsel advises me that the District Court, Honorable Judge XXXxxxc will render his opinion based for you based on the strong legal merits of this case.

I will allow you an opportunity to re-think through your final decision until Wednesday evening at approximately 7:00PM. If I have not heard from you by then I will file legal action against you.

I trust you will have a more pleasant evening.

Respectfully,

I.M.A. Asshole Misogynist

Antiques Auctioneer, Fine Arts Appraisals

So my husband called him, because by this time, I was apoplectic with indignant rage and screaming at my laptop. My husband simply couldn't take it any more.

This was when the moron on the other end of the phone told my husband I must have been having a bad day. My hero did not let my hormones or implied madness take the blame though. He said to the dolt, "my wife is not having a bad day and frankly, I'm offended you'd say anything like that."

So the buyer gets one more chance to take my dinnnnnnnning room set. If they aren't here at 10AM sharp next Saturday, we're done. By then, my 180 day contract with that unfortunate proprietor with the big fat mouth will be over.

That's the end of my saga for the day. I'm off to go put this creepy guy in the freezer.

As my world turns

One pedestal is good--two is even better.

Last Monday I eased back into work rather uneventfully. Though busy through the front halves of my shifts each evening, the back halves were pleasantly silent. Friday made up for the easy week, beginning with an altercation with a nursing home administrator who was clearly insane and kicked me out of the establishment because I was not a part of the agenda. The administrator wanted to use their own hospice agency, even though the family wanted the organization I work for.

This is a blatant violation of law which does allow a patient or their advocate to choose the provider of hospice services that they want. Imagine that! A patient has rights.

Immediately upon leaving that place, I got a call from another client's relative who wanted to give me a piece of what's left of his mind. Though angry with the physician of record, it was me this man felt compelled to unload his venom upon (that's because he got nowhere with the doctor). While I can manage someone's grief and anger well enough, I draw the line at name calling. After listening to his angry diatribe for 2.5 minutes, I was allowed to speak. That's what he said..."OK, now you can speak." I said one word, which was, "I" and he hung up before I could finish my sentence. I had to listen to an old man call me a "piece of crap" without the satisfaction of telling him, 'I need to tell you that we have a zero tolerance policy for abuse of any kind, including name calling.' So not satisfying. When I met that man last week, I had a fleeting thought that he was from the same mold that gifted the world with Mr. Larger Than Life. Now I've no doubt.

One week back and I've already had my share of the disturbed in this world. Don't think for one moment that I'm not planning my next vacation already.

The world just doesn't make furniture like they used to 70 or so years ago. I love the inviting and romantic looking back of this chair. Although there are no markings on my furniture, it's a set that's made in the Duncan Phyfe style. This is clearly not the type of chair you'll find at Ikea.

The biggest news this week is that we were stood up by the buyers of the dining room suite. After hours of toil to prepare for the sale--no exaggeration--they didn't show Saturday and apparently, though they agreed to buy the set, no money exchanged hands. The man handling the sale didn't even have the courtesy to call and tell me the sale was going nowhere and that he didn't plan to keep his noon appointment, either. Therefore, it's not sold, and now it's off the market. After writing the post the other day, I realized how much I truly love my furniture.


To make room in the small space, we're splitting up the set. The buffet is already upstairs where it will now house spinning fiber and knitting accessories.

You win some, you lose some.

Just as I began to post this, the antiques dealer called to let me know that the buyer who was a no call/no show yesterday would like to tie up my next Saturday off.

After the week I've had, I needed a good laugh.

Sold...a little piece of my heart

About 20 years ago now, I was driving through Grosse Pointe Farms and saw a sign for an estate sale. With a little time on my hands, I parked my car to see what I could discover. Being the last day of the sale, most things were picked through already and the seller was desperate to unload what was left.

With no dining room furniture to speak of in my new home, I was interested in the dining room suite. There was a table that without leaves would seat six, but with all three leaves that came with it, could comfortably fit twelve. Included was a buffet, china cabinet, six chairs and if I'd consider buying it, the seller would throw in a pedestal drum table with a leather top. All of it was in the worst possible condition imaginable, but, imagine I did. I saw it restored to glory in my mind's eye, plopped down $500 for the lot of it and considered myself blessed. Most of my friends and family thought I'd lost my mind and couldn't possibly see what this mess of wood could become in the hands of the right artisan.

Several years later, we finally had enough money to have it all professionally restored. The process seemed to take forever, during which time I visited the project to see these pieces many times. I saw them all looking raggedy and wretched--little better than potential kindling. I saw them stripped to expose their glorious original woods which included poplar, mahogany and some walnut. I visited again to choose stains which tormented me, but finally, though my house had a lot of natural oak, I threw caution to the wind and chose a rich cherry red stain. My last visit to the shop was to select the fabric used to recover the chairs.

After many months, the pieces were returned to me and were absolutely stunning. What others plainly couldn't see during the early days of the sale, became my gain.

And now, it's my loss.

Our new home is way too small to house a dining room suite the size of this one. It's all too much for the confines of a 1,200 square foot home. Sometime late last summer, we had an estate specialist and antique dealer come to our home to appraise and then list the set on his website and two nights ago, someone must have seen what I saw and clicked the purchase button.

Sold. Just like that, I lost all of my dining room furniture and a little piece of my heart.

I have so many memories of the family meals we've shared around that table, like the year we bought my husband a set of utensils that extended three feet. That Christmas night, with all the leaves in spanning the distance between my husband and my father, my husband extended his fork and stole a piece of food off my dad's plate. The picture in my mind of my husband's boyish glee and my father laughing because he never expected food theft will forever be in my heart. It wouldn't have been the same without all that space between them.

I can recall the last meals, too. Christmas dinner of 2001 was the last one we shared with my dad. For Thanksgiving 2004, my mom, still so sad at the holidays, sat with my best friend and mourned. It was my friend's first holiday without her daughter. The two of them told stories, laughed, cried and polished off more than one bottle of wine. My mother, sitting next to Fannette, had a magical never empty wine glass and the rest of us spent the night mopping up tears. Though sad, it's a precious memory.

As I polish the pieces and prepare them for someone new to love, I find myself feeling a little bereft. It's not really the lustrous wood, or the grand pedestal legs of the table, or heart backed chairs I'll miss most...it's the opportunity to make more memories like these because most of the people who helped to make them so special are now gone from us.

The Gawker

That's me. I confess, I can't look away when I see something out of the ordinary. I stare at car wrecks and usually thank my lucky stars it wasn't me, but first I stare and not from a caregiver's perspective. When I walk down the halls of a hospital, I can't help looking in the rooms. Maybe we can give that one to training as we're all taught to watch all patients, but still, I could be more discreet.

Tonight I watched a marathon of Hoarders, and while I personally find these kinds of shows distasteful, I don't stop watching. Can't. I'm amazed by how much crap one or two people can jam into their lives and wonder how they come to this--and then go on national tv and show the world. I think a part of me, while personally appalled, is secretly relieved that my dust bunnies hardly compare to the nightmare these hoarders live with. I felt compelled to get up and start going through my stuff to whittle things down. Don't worry, the feeling passed as soon as I changed the channel.

The other train wreck I can't seem to get enough of avoid is the Charlie Sheen debacle. Nope. Can't get enough.

I marvel at his madness and simply have to stop and gawk.

Baaaaa

March came in like a lamb in Detroit. OK then...now I'm really worried. I'd have been much happier with a blustery day so that I could look forward to the end of winter with the idea that March would go out like a lamb rather than a lion.



Still, it was a gloriously sunny day with a high near 40 degrees and at 6 PM, I was still wearing my very new and incredibly fashionable sunglasses. They're my first pair of progressive sunglasses. I tired of my old ones--always having to lift them up to read anything, so I guess it was time. I even busted out my scrubs and left my winter clothes behind. Well, to be honest, they were all in the dirty pile, but still, scrubs are good. Scrubs mean it was warm enough in the sun to wear paper thin clothes.

I've got my fingers crossed we've seen the backside of old man winter, but I won't hold my breath. I have a feeling that ground hog is nothing but a filthy liar and spring won't come any earlier than it usually does.

By the way, only one call from the cardiologist today to reschedule MLTL's next blood draw. Since he was at their office for 4 hours today for tests, I've no clue why they didn't write the appointment down and hand it to him the old fashioned way. Sometimes I think the right hand doesn't know what the left is doing in that office.

I hope your day was sunny, too.

Don't Kill the Messenger

Dealing with my father in law and his doctors is wearing on me. I'm a little tired of all the calls and the complicated message systems we have employed to be certain this man is doing what he needs to do and doing it all while avoiding stepping on the old man's feelings. He likes to feel like he's in charge, but he's completely deaf. The cardiologist's staff is worried giving him coumadin orders over the phone, and I don't blame them. I'm sure they call MLTL, too, but their first call is to me. I take the message and text his slave (my son) regarding any special instructions in respect to his medications or tests. If they don't call him, he gets all indignant and yells at everyone who'll listen that he is not a dotard (I've apologized to the doctor's staff more than once). The fact is, he is half dotard and has that pesky little problem of deafness as well. To hear him on the phone is a spectacle not to be believed as I'm sure he can be heard one town over. Hell, having the phone ring in his house is frightening when you don't expect such a loud ring and strobe lights. I always jump when it happens.

What a pain in the ass.

So today the cardiologist office staff called. Apparently, MLTL made an appointment for an echocardiogram and a stress test for tomorrow morning. The office called me with instructions, which I promptly texted to the slave. Nothing to eat or drink after 7AM...no caffeine all day today...blah, blah, blah. These are non invasive tests and totally normal for a cardiologist to order, except MLTL has no memory of making the appointments and now thinks the sky is falling.

His behavior tonight has been explained to me as over the top: "he's losing his mind over this" (not possible as it's already gone) and "he's gonna blow a gasket." He thinks he's going to die with the news that he needs these routine tests. He swears he had an echo last week, but I don't think so. I think he had an EKG, but there is no arguing with him. His mind is set on the sky falling.

There's no doubt in my mind that his blood pressure is up over this, but I'm not getting involved. Lately, I'm the Queen of Telephone Tag and I'm going to limit my involvement to just that.

Landmarks

Today is another one of those bittersweet days for me.

As I sat writing my annual update on my legal guardianship of Rachel to the probate court, the irony of it all smacked me hard upside my head. Why is this even necessary? Who better to make her decisions for her than the one who birthed her? After all, I've never done anything heinous to her, and I've spent her entire lifetime seeing to her every need.

A girl's 21st birthday should be met with great adult fanfare, don't you think? I know it was for both my first daughter and son, but for Rachel, we're laying low and celebrating with dinner at home and a cake. Oh sure, there will be presents, but I won't be taking her out for a beer.

Somehow, I don't think the court that oversees my guardianship would approve--even if I told them I know this little beer thief would love a good brew.

I hate the landmarks events in life. They only serve to remind me that, yet again, here is another event that proves her life will always be different and challenging. It makes me sad.

Oh what the hell, maybe I should just pop open a brew and leave it unattended...