The wheelchair guy who met my mom at the door of the plane looked something like this. Do you have luggage? he asked. I told him we did, and he said not to worry, he would help us. Counting the time that he waited outside the ladies room, we probably spent an hour together. He was smooth. The whole process was smooth. We arrived at the curb with my mom in her wheelchair and our mountain of luggage just as the beautiful M pulled up. I tipped him generously, but forgot to thank him for giving up his Bollywood career just for us.
This morning our house looked like this.
Here are some of our treasures.
Don't worry, it gets better.
Um...that's a tiny bungee cord and a pair of those non-skid hospital socks.
Well, this is sweet. "Someone in Iowa loves you!" it says.
Check out the matchbox cars in the tin and the box. We have dozens more. My mom's older sister crocheted the afghan. I washed it three times this morning to get the cigarette stench out. The purses are stuffed full of family photos. And hiding in the back is a boxed set (still shrink wrapped) of Anne of Green Gables.
And what was my mom doing with the matchbox cars you ask? She and her twin sister searched the streets, trash-picking, for many years. They routinely washed, repaired, and refurbished tons of stuff, saving it from the landfill and giving it to people they thought would like it--and every so often having a pretty profitable garage sale. The cars were kept for my nephew, whom my mom and I now call Big Jacob since he's 15 years old. We brought them back to California so my grandson, whom we sometimes refer to as Little Jacob, can play with them when he comes to visit.
Is there more? Oh, my. Yes. But I refuse to get up right now and take more photos. Later.
But wait!--we did find her martini hat.