Stealth War

    I consider myself an honest and peaceful person.  However, I also find myself engaged in a stealth war with Mom.

    Her war cry is to save everything, waste nothing.  Mine is to throw away the unusable items, which happen to be on her preferred saving list.  (Her low vision and nonexistent sense of smell  are in direct conflict with my germ warfare and sensitive nose.)  My secret actions are meant to save her dignity and preserve my sanity.  Her missing short-term memory provides me a winning edge that, admittedly, I exploit in order not to be pushed over the edge.

    I tried the direct approach this morning with the badly mildewed rags she recovered from the shop yesterday.  I tied the Walmart bag handles tightly to contain the sickening smell and mentioned to her that we should throw the rags out because of the mildew.  She wants to soak them in bleach instead.  My next strategic move will be to sneak them out to the trash can by the curb next week.

    Yesterday I attempted the indirect approach of moving the rusted spatula and ancient splatter screen from the kitchen table to the bucket for recyclables.  I put the blue container with netted hat and empty jar on the floor near the pantry.

    By this morning, all except the hat were washed and in the kitchen drainer.  The container still smells like the tulip bulbs it contained for over a year.  I’ve moved it to my room, which is the usual route to get to the curbside trash eventually.  (However, I draw the room line at mildewed rags.)  The rusted spatula I placed in the drawer below the oven where it sits ready for later disposal.   I left the splatter screen in the dish drainer.
   
    I’m not sure how to tell who is winning the war.  I’d much rather come to a truce, but since that is not possible without some real emotional violence in which Mom would discover that there is a war, I settle for stealth.  It may not be nice to take advantage of her lost short-term memory, but at least she won’t know what’s missing.