I’ve locked my mother-in-law up in a small trailer, in my back yard. She’s not being harmed, but she’s not having fun. There’s only one window in the one-room trailer, and it has a thirty-year-old air conditioner in it. It still works great. She has a shower and a toilet. The shower curtain has a realistic beach scene that hypnotizes one into thinking they’re at the ocean. At least until you flush the toilet you’ve been sitting on three feet away while you were staring at it. There’s a small hospital bed and a comfy recliner for furniture (besides the handy toilet). She can watch all the non-cable network programming on tv that her heart desires. She’s got all of her oxygen-related equipment there, too. Her COPD requires it. It’s the least I can do for her. Kitchenette, min-fridge, and microwave round out the major accessories to her captive living quarters. It’s a lot like a prison, probably, but without the crowd. My wife is allowed to bring her a cooked meal in the evenings and visit as long as she likes. I’m no monster. I have a heart.
Now, you may be asking yourself “why is this poor woman being subjected to such abuse?” Or, if you’re more like my wife (her daughter), you may be asking “how do I get to live in a little trailer all by myself, too?” She’s quite an introvert, my Laura Gail. If she’s well fed (as picky as she is, that’s not an easy feat by itself), has an ample supply of ChapStick and (most of all) a private bathroom, I’m pretty certain that she’d trade places with Gma in a quick heartbeat. I can’t do that, however, because the grandson (Lefty) won’t allow her to be incarcerated without it being at Gigi’s house. All his stuff is there. Otherwise, I’d have locked her up, too. Add to that the whole “Kevin loves Laura Gail’s cooking and doesn’t want to live off of peanut butter, canned chili and popcorn again” thing. So Gma has to do her time all by herself.
The reason she’s being incarcerated is simple. She’s got a crew working at her house, putting in a new floor. They’re replacing about ninety percent of her entire house’s floor. The little trailer she’s staying in has been home to several other members of her family through the years. Her grandsons, Jon and Cody, have both lived there. Jon was there the longest. My own son, Tim, lived there a couple of times, and my son, Mike, lived there for a few years. I’ve even used it for an office to write in, at times. She charges ridiculous rent. It would’ve been skyrocket high in 1980. She’s been guilty of helping each and every one of us think today’s rents are ungodly high. She didn’t even make them cut the grass. I reckon I’m special. She’s given all of us the opportunity to save some dough, even if we never actually got around to putting it in the bank for long.
So thank you, Gma! We appreciate everything you’ve done and continue to do. Thanks for being a great landlord, a mentor, and planting your voice inside our head whenever we wonder if we should do the hard thing, the right thing, or the lazy thing. We don’t always heed your voice, but it’s always there, telling us to do what is right, good and industrious. We love you, and hope you get out of the “Little House” (as opposed to the “Big House” of Prison) and back into your home soon.
I’ll let everyone know when Gma gets out of jail. Heck, we may even have a “Coming Out” pary for her! Don’t tell her though. It’ll be a surprise party.
Rolling Stones 