How does Charlie Brown put it? AAAARRRGH!!!

There, I feel all better now, see? Maybe there was something to that. All I have to do is a mantra, telling myself I am a rational if ageing adult, and all sorts of things will be well, yup, they will... maybe.... somehow... somewhere... don't know.......

Deep breaths... and whaddaya know, am not gonna have an asthma attack after all...

Moving is the pits, we can all agree on that, I am sure. Moving someone else's stuff, packing it, is waaaaay trickier, and like trying to find your way through a mine field, especially if you have been together for over thirty years. And I will let you in on a sneakret: I never looked through his personal things, EVAH. And I hope he respected my private spaces in our house.

Peter is the world's most extreme hoarder. Horrible. After only 1 year there, I had to take three sixty litre bags of junk out to the garbage containers! Which made my ischias nerve hurt. Omanomanomanomanoman... I had to look through it all first. Some of it was really .... well let's just say I wasn't liking what I was seeing. And in the middle of it all, I suddenly realised... his favourite photos in silver frames were gone.

Fambly stuff, some with myself in them... And I got this sinking feeling, you know? Like you're on a fast elevator going down? I did find the pictures clearing out the bookshelves. He sold the frames for some tomfoolery.... That one hurt. I was so wanting to throw up.

Preciousses? You should never stick your hand in wasps' nests. And if you do inadverdantly, expect to get bitten.

I was taking out the last bag of junk before I was about to leave, and ran into a lady whom I had spoken to a few times, she is nice. She was with her wild daughter, and her daughter. But are actually nice. And they asked about Peter, and I told them telegramm style, and explained that I have to clear out the apt.

And they jumped right in, and told me about Guido next door to Peter's apt. That is a sort of odd story, Guido. He is in a wheelchair. He had just moved in when Peter had his second heart attack, and the ambulance had taken him off, I locked up, and there he was in a snowstorm, trying to get up the street because he had to get to some social services appointment.

Well, I had both hands free... and went up behind him, and asked, 'Need an extra shove and some power?' And he said, 'Oh. Thank you, that would be good.' I hoisted him into the bus, and got him off at Jacki, and it was snowing even harder, so I asked if he could get to his appointment in time. He said yes. So I wished him a good day, and went on, sorta super-down. Last words were, by the way, I'm Ren.' And he said, 'Guido'.

So... nothing to write home about, ok? An incident. I saw Guido for the second time today, in the supermarket in his wheelchair. And he asked me about how Peter was, and I told him I had to clear out the appartment.... He looked sort of sad that he wasn't coming back, don't know...

So I was taking out the last bag of trash.... and ran into a woman in the house with her daughter and grand-daughter... And she was fairly upset about what-all happened since February... Except it turned into something else.

She told me that 'Guido' next door... has no furniture, doesn't have a kitchen or anything to cook on, and she told me in no uncertain words, 'If you have something to help, you pay it forward.'

Now... this is a sort of Socialist idea. So my family must have been Socialist. Because, when the kids took off on their own, and had basically nothing, they stepped up, and gave them essentials till they got on their feet financially. So yes, it is Socialist.

I know what I am going to do tomorrow. Someone is gonna get a kitchen and a table, or my name isn't RenB.

Did I mention I hate days that make me emotional? Take a note.