Chronic Negress

The drinking, living, selling of distant homes and family matters prevented more timely updates here in Negressville. But, more or less in order, here’s how it’s been of late:

About two and a half weeks ago, myself, my cousin and her fiance Chef Charley headed to the Trader Joe’s in Falls Church or somewhere so we could stock up on value wine. The Negress mostly agrees with her pal Tim Lemke over at Cheap Wine Ratings that most of the value wines at Trader Joe’s are an exercise in futility, but we did like the Chalk Moon Viognier and Gewurztraminer well enough but not enough to drive back to Virginia (Do not get the Negress started on the Maryland wine laws). I did like a 2008 Black Mountain Sauvignon Blanc, which was pushing $8 a bottle (just about everything I got was either an 07 or an 08). There was also a fruity Alsace Gewurztraminer (2008 Laugel Cuvee Michel Leon) that wasn’t terrible either. I had stocked up on wine during my last visit to New Jersey (comparison  2007 Can Blau  is $13.99 in NJ, $18.99 when you can find it in Maryland) so all set there.

However, two days after that run, I get a call on my cell phone from my sister, who lives with clinical depression, informing me she had been evicted for not paying her rent (it usually works that way, no?) I drive across DC to help her salvage what we can fit in the car. Her telecom had been turned off for nonpayment in June (it could have been earlier; the silence on each end can be deafening) but I had been e-mailing her assuming a Brandeis graduate would go to the library to check that. Never assume logic with crazy people.  She seemed surprised I was in DC. I tried to restrain the urge to kill her, but we headed for dinner at Chef Charley’s and cousin so she could store some of the bigger stuff she saved in their garage. She has entered the maze of social services and emerged with food stamps, a Medicaid application (I sent her a paper one back in March but she’s phobic about mail) and is on lists for housing. I teeter between rage and pity but also know I am not a parent.

While I am processing all this, the buyers send a list from their lawyer with about 20 things they turned up on their inspection that are typical for a 140-year old house. I get this information after spending several days in a Jersey City Marriott (no girl TV so I catch up on Design Star — yeah Antonio! — and other such stuff when I return). I go to the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame Nominating Committee meeting and a good time is had, followed by drinks and dinner with some of the participants. I spend Thursday morning with my realtor going over our response to the screed from the buyers. Then I head to Princeton, sell $120 worth of CDs and leave some 45s behind for appraisal for sale.

Adding some background radiation to this backdrop was a phone call at 2:30 a.m. Monday informing me that my mother (diagnosed with dementia about five years ago) was hospitalized for dehydration and gastric bleeding. Interleaved with everything else I have mentioned are phone calls giving consents for various endoscopies, anesthesias, ultrasounds and what have you. She’s on her way back to the nursing home, and the Negress has successfully avoided putting her on a feeding tube.

So it’s no surprise that on Saturday night I inadvertently finished an entire bottle of Smoking Loon 2008 Viognier while watching as much mindless TV as I can stand. Meanwhile my sister reads cat mysteries and Flashman books, oblivious to how unsettled she is making me.  Meanwhile, I am also still looking for work.