Presently, all three are sitting outside the garage, and none are running. Uncle came over and put the lawn mower on a battery charger. Hopefully we'll get it inside the garage. Now it's 38 degrees F outside and why this has to be worked on today, I simply can't figure.
Dad keeps running the battery down because he can't/won't pull the choke up high enough to start the mower, nor does he realize why it won't start. However, he never tells anyone he is going to try or ask for someone else to help. If I'm in the kitchen I slowly realize I'm hearing a grating "beep, beep, beep" outside, and that Dad's going off on the mower again. It's always too late to prevent dead battery syndrome.
The golf cart also isn't working. I have no clue why. Dad's brother is going to take it and Dad to Paducah on Monday and see if they can get it fixed. Oh, joy. Now I'll have to be on the look out to keep Joe from using it on the highway. Lessee - gotta get that newspaper in the box on the other side of the highway; I'll just hop in my little cart and go get it. Oh! That was a lumber truck that just whizzed by and nearly kissed my bumper. I swear he wasn't there ten minutes ago when I looked.
The truck isn't working by design. Last week the sitter went 1/4 mile down the road to get pool-hall burgers for lunch. Probably took 10 minutes. When she arrived back, it was to Dad pulling out onto the highway in the truck. He immediately pulled back into the driveway when he saw her. He KNOWS he's not supposed to go on the highway.
Out of desperation, she turned the lights on and ran the battery down. For good measure, she pulled a coil wire. Now we have to get it charged on the sly and get it returned to the back yard.
About six months ago we took Dad's car keys, and last month he agreed to sell his car to one of the sitters. A week later he asked her if she'd sell the car back to him. Sigh. He's a hazard to himself and others. Insurance won't renew his policy. He can't remember how to get to places. Yet he can't give up on needing to drive.
Last night he asked me if I was the mother of the little boy in the photo on the mantle. Yes, Dad, that's my son. But Dad still needs to be able to go whenever and wherever he wants, regardless of whether he can see, move the pedals, or remember where he is.