Tag Archives: family

Define “Theft”

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Is it stealing if you take back things others took from you?

Dude and his girlfriend got into an argument out at her place. Dude called- yes, really- asking me to come get him so the cops she called wouldn’t take him to jail. Then he called back that he was staying there for the night and leaving in the morning.

In the morning he sent a polite text that he was packed up and ready to go, but thanks anyway for my help.

I texted back asking if the stuff missing from my property was in his packed car.

He didn’t answer.

When they left my house on the final eviction notice, they took almost all the furniture (except an old couch the dog puked on, gosh darn it) and quite a lot of artwork. I sent through my attorney a list of things I wanted back “or else” there would be a criminal prosecution.

Then that phone call came, and suddenly I had her address. Well……

A friend and I drove out there. Yep, half my worldly goods were sitting on her front porch. So we did what came natural. I have back all but two of my important artwork pieces, the big rocking chair that Jack’s friends gave him, our expanding ladder (and essential piece of homesteading equipment), and assorted other goods that make me happy.

The one thing we did not see was the large riding mower, known as a Zero Turn. The one thing girlfriend reported stolen was the Zero Turn. My lawyer called to ask me if I had reclaimed it. Said they were “tracks in the snow around where it was kept.” Which cracked us up because girlfriend’s first attempt to reclaim my stuff from it being taken away from her was to say she knew we had been there because there were footprints in the snow.

Yes, dear. Okay. So anyway, of all the things we took, they reported something that we didn’t take (that wasn’t there in the first place) as stolen. So now my lawyer says we won’t prosecute for theft if they return the remaining two sentimental paintings and produce a police report saying they reported the zero turn stolen.

I asked his logic for this and he said, “Because lying to the police is in itself a felony. Leverage.”

Ah. My lawyer is very smart. So is my friend who went with me to reclaim stuff. We successfully tied that very long ladder to a not-that-long car and as we drove away with everything (confidently heading in the wrong direction for five miles before turning around) she said, “Two academic women can still manage a ladder. Score one for the girls.”

Yep.

We technically have court tomorrow, so I’ll let you know if anything happens because somebody stole something, and who the court decides stole from whom.

Meanwhile, I am rehanging some artwork.

The First Time Your Dad Forgets Who You Are

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The first time your dad forgets who you are, annoyance might supplant sadness.

We were going into Costco to replace his lost hearing aid. Shoppers for the holidays raced about, all of them surly. So was the girl in the Santa hat, checking cards at the door. I scanned our card and had my dad sit down while I went back out to get an electric cart. A kind employee showed me how to work the controls after he saw me back into the building.

When I came back in the cart, Santa Hat Guard made me scan the card again.

I parked the cart in front of Dad, who said, “Oh thank you; now I just need to wait for my daughter.”

We were in a high stress situation. That’s more or less what accelerates the Alzheimer’s in certain moments, for lack of a simpler explanation. Being in a different place, not knowing the rules, pushes harder on what’s left and breaks it up faster.

I held up his hearing aid box. “Ready to go do this?”

He smiled. “Yep, just gotta wait for my daughter and then I’m ready.”

I thought for a second, went outside, and came back. Santa Hat glared at me. I swiped my card. Again.

“Ready to go, Dad?” I said cheerfully.

“There you are. I wondered where you’d gotten to.”

A lovely woman works at the Hearing Aid department: Dani. She taught him slowly and steadily how to keep the device in his ear. When they finished, he wanted to buy a big screen TV.

We already have a big screen TV.

We got eggs, and the cashews he likes. We left the scrum of shoppers and screech of carols over the loudspeaker. And as he hauled himself into the car by the door handle, he said, “I need pop tarts.”

We went to Walmart, where they were also kind to him. Found him a cart, kept him company when he announced, after we’d checked out, that he also needed Pepsi. I ran back and got it while the nice lady in the Santa hat and blue vest and Grinch onesie (they were having PJ employee day) kept him company.

On my way back with the Pepsi, a sudden balloon of red and black plaid wriggled backwards from a narrow crack in a display of pie-making supplies, and turned into a human behind. Standing upright, the filled-out plaid pants became a human with cute pony tails in a two-piece buffalo plaid. She grinned at me, looking very like an elf who had just successfully fought a chimney.

For no reason whatsover, I said, “My dad forgot my name.”

She blinked once, then shrugged, “Prob’ly so he won’t hafta buy you a present. He’ll remember it by New Year’s.”

I had to laugh. She patted me on the shoulder as I walked on by, then slid her red-and-black flanneled body between cans of condensed milk and assorted spices once again.

Dad was waiting with Santa Hat Nice Grinch Lady.

“There she is!” Ms. Grinch pointed, smiling, “See, you’re going home for Christmas!” To me she said with a wink, “He was a little worried you’d forgotten him.”

“How would I forget you?” I said to him. “You’re my dad.”