"Third request?!"

    A measure of how much better my dad is doing is how much of his life I can hand back to him. A couple of weeks ago, I started bringing him requests for proxy votes and stuff like that, items that I could handle easily and which weren't very important or pressing, but which I thought it would be good to let him handle to get him back in the swing of running his affairs.
    For decades now I think he's been part of the Physicians' Health Study run by Harvard. It ended finally just about the time he was going to the hospital. I ignored the first request to fill out the final questionaire because his condition was very much up in the air, and I ignored the second one because at the time he was damn near a zombie thanks to Dilantin. But when the third request came in, I brought it to him yesterday, and he about exploded (but in a nice way) with the subject line above. I explained that his health hadn't been too great and I had been fairly distracted and he subsided and filled it out.
    Sometimes when I leave, he says "Thanks for everything," as he did yesterday. I like it a lot; of course, I have a far greater everything to thank him for. So a little gets paid back.

Reliable

    As Margaret is in the hospital, she asked me to roll her garbage cart out to the curb (kerb? whatever) Wednesday night. Aaaaand I forgot all about it. Until 11 when I put the light out and went to bed. Without thinking about it a second, I rolled out of bed, pulled on trousers and deck shoes, grabbed keys and wallet, and went. And again I have to ask: who kidnapped me and replaced me with an exact replica, except the new model's reliable? It's an outrage! (Nice night, though.)

+1

    I wonder if I can get rid of the +1s on Google if I were to bail out on Google+? This is still dial-up, and though it's an extremely neat feature, I'm tired of having to wait minutes for Google to load. Ditto Google+; I'm willing to take the word of my friends who say it's the best, but it's hard to tell on dial-up. Maybe I should just be Dad on Google+ and use the smart phone. I bet it would be the funnest thing ever with broadband.
    I finally talked to somebody about home health care after Dad leaves the nursing home. She was nice enough to explain the facts of life to me. Medicare pays for home medical (which this outfit, Be Well Home Services, attached to the Lutheran Homes, doesn't do), but requires a prescription from a doctor. Non-medical would be just a straight contract between us and the agency, for stuff like driving to dialysis appointments, cleaning, grocery shopping, etc. So I need to talk to the people at the nursing home for the prescription (the nice lady also gave me a recommendation) and sort out what we need from Be Well, if anything. Complicated, but cool.
    Margaret's hip replacement went great, even better than the other hip replacement went, she told Dad. Much relieved, us.

This is the day

    Margaret gets her hip replacement today. She's already had the other hip done and both knees, so this is all but routine. On the other hand, she's 90. There isn't anything that is entirely unserious at that age.
    It also sucks that Dad can't be there. It's cool that they're as close as the telephone of course. I want to send some silk roses on his behalf. However, two months at that hospital demonstrated that there are seldom adequate places to put flowers in the rooms. But we'll muddle through somehow.
    It's flat amazing to me that she'll be all better again (knock on wood!) in just two weeks. Just unbelievable, entirely in the good way.

70s synth choir, karaoke choir or kazoo koir?

    I was thinking that what made synthesizers so great in the early '70s was that they were synthetic per se. Maybe the makers were trying to synthesize the sounds other instruments made, but the technology just wasn't up to it, so instead they made these awesome sounds no one had ever heard before. Before too long, before even the '70s were out, synthesizers did a pretty good job of making ersatz versions of other instruments' sounds, and the interest leaked away pretty quickly. ('80s synth-pop helped, of course.)
    I think it would be fun to get a hold of some Moog and A.R.P. synthesizers and get up a '70s synth choir. Then again, I also think it would be a good idea to start a rock'n'roll church, where a large group would more or less sing gang karaoke. And to start a kazoo choir, more or less along the lines of the contributors to Mr. Yankovic's "Smells Like Nirvana" video, though at the moment I'm more captivated with the idea of doing "Black Dog" kazoo style. (Also the Columbia Kazoo Choir, open to all, might be a nice counter-balance to another similarly alliterative group which is much less open and drastically less fun.)
    See? I'm just full of ideas!

Long march

    Friday, Dad asked the physical therapist if he could try walking with a cane. She (or he) assented, so he did. He walked up and down the physical therapy room (or gym, if you prefer) three or four times. This doesn't sound like much, but it really is quite a long room. He was quite proud, and also well-pleased, because he doesn't like using the walker, which he almost has to lift up to push. A cane is a lot more workable.
    In general, he says he still feels like he's going to fall sometimes when he's walking, but not as often as previously. I'm ready to go ahead and take that as a positive sign!
    He's somewhat worried that they will try to put him out before Margaret is rehabbed from her hip replacement and ready for him to move in. I think that considering how much muscle mass he lost, he could do well just to stay the whole 100 days and just work out daily in the gym. Heck, he still can't really stand up by himself, nor carry out major and popular bodily functions. He figures he qualifies for home health care; I think so, too.
    Margaret says that Dad said that since he can walk, he ought to be able to drive, too, right? We were both too polite to point out that he couldn't drive before but did it anyway.:)

Dang head fell off!

    I knew I should have gone to the doctor some time since I got that whiplash, oh, fifteen years ago! What do I do now? The kitty's rolling the danged thing around the house like a bowling ball. I find this highly disrespectful. I would tell her to stop, but the lack of connection between lungs and mouth makes this a little tricky.
    How am I going to drive? I think the police just might notice a man with no head driving down the highways and byways. Is there a law against this? "Do you know how fast you were going, sir, and by the way, where's your head?" The problem would be mind-boggling if I had one anymore.
    Maybe I can just screw it back on. The kitty has other toys. She'll get over it. Sure hope she didn't scratch up my glasses. Darn kitties; you just can't trust 'em.
    Bet you're wondering how I'm typing this. Lucky thing I learned to touch-type long ago. Yeah, I don't have to worry about a thing, and foeiujr;skfg;ofdkgjs

Country song

    Drama breaks out again in the de facto extended family, or maybe a country song. Dad's sweetheart Margaret (still also 90) fell Tuesday night. Though she hit her head, the fall itself didn't hurt her much; it was mainly trying to get up again by herself that did it. (This was Tuesday at midnight; she didn't want to bother or wake anyone at that hour.) Meanwhile, her daughter Bunny also fell, tripping while pumping gas and wound up going to the emergency room for stitches to the face.
    Margaret was in a lot of pain and had trouble moving, but went in for her appointment for the nuclear test to check her heart function and see if she could still have the hip replacement. Though it was a trial, it was also a success: she will be having the hip replacement, on schedule, next Tuesday(!) I'm hoping somebody takes a head x-ray while she's there. We don't need any more subdural hematomas to the head in the extended (de facto) family.

Dad's ambition

    Dad's ambition is a simple one: to walk again without the walker. He shared it with the physical therapist; I don't think he told me how she reacted or if she were in any way encouraging. But he certainly is improving. Most things don't seem dramatic. He can take off or put on his own shoes, which he couldn't a mere week ago. He stood up for us without the walker last Saturday (I think). He still has difficulty standing up from the bed. Of course, it helps if he raises the bed up first. It worries me that he can't figure this out himself, but then, he doesn't have much experience with adjustable beds, nor has he ever had any particular trouble getting out of bed before. I like to think that he'll figure it out.
    I went up to Charlotte yesterday to see my old high school debate partner Russ Henderson and to eat Ethiopian at Meskerem Restaurant. It was a good time and good to get out of town and good to have enough faith in Dad's health to be able to go. (And terrific to see Russ, who licked cancer and is doing very well.) I offered to take over the hosting job at DL from Amy, but she has better sense than that.

Reassessing the Total Avocado Lifestyle

    Or one specific part of it at least. As I mentioned recently, my luncheon beverage for the last two years or so has been a smoothie composed of a quarter of an avocado, a quarter of a cucumber (seeded, since I don't enjoy acid reflux) and frozen fruit (pineapple or Aldi fiesta blend) and distilled water to cover. The problem with this, as I mention entirely too frequently is that avocado (while wonderful for one's thyroid) is also a vasoconstrictor, meaning it cuts circulation, specifically to the brain and to other strategic parts.
    Cucumber is a vasodilator and should balance the avocado, but doesn't quite seem to make it. So what I've been doing is eating an extra cucumber every week or so whenever I start getting words mixed up (e.g., vasoconstrictor). What I'm doing now instead is make the smoothie with a quarter of an avocado and half of a cucumber (still unseeded). Thyroid still seems to be working, brain seems to be operating, strategic lower parts seem to be working better. Huzzah! Can the return of avocado chocolate pudding be far away?

"We ain't sellin' nothin'"

    Yesterday afternoon, as I was reading and listening to tunes, somebody knocked on the door. A short fellow was there, spokesman of a duo. Calling me "boss," he said they were in the neighborhood helping people and they wanted to help me. He suggested I come out and see what they had done with my car. I suppressed the urge to tell him I was calling the police right now and just said, "Thanks. 'Bye." Before I had quite closed the door, he said, "We ain't sellin' nothin'."
    I couldn't and can't figure it out. If you're not sellin' nothin', why are you here? Calling a random stranger "boss" is fairly unusual around here, as is showing up claiming that you're helping people. I thought they might be Irish Travel(l)ers, and rather wish I had called the sheriff. A look at the car this morning didn't reveal anything in particular that they could have done to help, though it's so filthy they might have cleaned some area that I'm just not noticing. (Also wish I'd answered "We ain't sellin' nothin'" with "Too right you're not.")

"Something blew off"

    At Publix a moment ago, the very nice checker told me that something had blown off the counter, implying (or at least so I inferred) that it was something of mine. I couldn't think of anything of mine that could have blown off the counter, or even anything belonging to anyone else. I looked in the waste basket, but there were only receipts from previous customers and soda cans and such. But it's still going to drive me crazy. I counted my money and it's about right. No credit cards are missing. My driver's license has been trying to get away from me for some time, but not in this instance. Maybe she isn't such a nice checker, and lives to drive customers crazy like this. (No, seriously, she was quite sincere; just mistaken.)

Creamy eggplant

    On the buffet at Delhi Palace yesterday evening was an eggplant entree. The consistency was wonderfully creamy. Of course, they could have just put in cream, and maybe they did. I didn't get around to asking anyone. However, my main objection to eggplant in the past is how soft it is. It could well be that when pureed, it would become creamy and the mushiness would be turned to an advantage. At least it's a thought. Maybe my pizza-free pizza could be topped with black bean, eggplant and kale and I would finally be able to feed my vegetarian friends. If not, there's always Spanish omelet.

Overplayed

    I heard an old old song ("Whatcha See Is Whatcha Get" by The Dramatics) and was so delighted I posted the video on Facebook. And it's odd, because it was a song that was played heavily on the radio way back then, and even more heavily by me when it was one of the first few singles I ever owned. Other songs from the same era didn't wear so well. "Mr. Big Stuff" by Jean Knight was overplayed then and I still can't listen to it now. It was another of my first 45s.
    Over the years, there were a lot of those overplayed numbers. Most didn't need any help from me; the radio did enough. "Lying Eyes" by the Eagles, and later their "Hotel California" are two that I am finally just about willing to listen to again. "The Sultans of Swing" is another. I think it's weird that the kings of overplayed, Fleetwood Mac, have so few of these numbers. Though they were played into the ground, their songs stay interesting. (OK, not "Don't Stop," but that's probably the Clintons' fault.) I guess Fleetwood and McVie must be the most underrated rhythm section ever.
    One good thing about the segmentation of the radio market (and MTV's decision to quit showing videos) is that songs are a lot less likely to be overplayed these days. Assuming you don't go to minor league baseball games (no longer an option around here).

Might be bad news (not Dad)

    Well, it might be bad news for Dad, but it isn't bad news concerning Dad. I inadvertently delayed mentioning that Margaret is having a hip replacement this month, but maybe it was just my fabulous psychic powers manifesting again. She went to the doctor for blood tests yesterday. Unfortunately, they indicated that she may have had a silent heart attack. Therefore, the anesthesiologist won't touch her, and the hip replacement surgery is put off indefinitely. She has to go back for further tests to see what her condition is. As she's never had heart trouble, she isn't too worried about it. But as bad luck would have it, her hip flared up very painfully yesterday, too. Pisser.
    Dad was pretty dizzy yesterday morning, so his occupational therapy was just cleaning himself up in the bathroom with supervision. He was also somewhat dizzy in the afternoon and stumbled a bit when he first tried to stand up for physical therapy. The therapist checked his blood pressure and (at his suggestion) checked it again after he stood up (to check for positional orthostatic hypotension). It was fine for both positions and barely unchanged. I suggested again that he needs his earwax cleared out; we have a tendency to accumulate a lot. Regardless, he went on to physical therapy and did fine. Hopefully he feels better today.

What I eat

    Somebody asked me what I eat on the gluten-free casein-free soy-free diet and I never got a chance to answer fully. Though it's unlikely she's looking, here's an answer: beef stew with small red beans; chicken and chick peas over brown rice; pasta fazoo (OK, pasta e fagioli) featuring chicken, Great Northern beans & brown rice pasta; turkey chili with quinoa; pizza-free pizza (Chebe bread pizza crust mix, with coconut milk substituted for milk, and with tomato sauce, kale, black beans, GF chicken sausage and Daiya casein-free cheese substitute on top); beef fajitas with soft-corn tortillas; Spanish omelet; boneless pork chops, black beans and tomatoes over brown rice. (That's kind of a lot, isn't it?)
    All the stewy items above have a lot of vegetables in them. I tend to put a lot of yellow squash and okra in everything. Lately, I'm putting in as much kale as I can possibly stand, to try to get my calcium levels higher. The non-stewy items tend to get steamed vegetables on the side. Oh, and on fish days (Monday & Thursday), I usually have cod or haddock with potatoes and kale or broccoli or some combination at lunchtime. But if Aldi has frozen corn on the cob (the best!) I'll make lowcountry shrimp boil for supper on a Monday and make Paul's day better.
    Breakfast is accidentally vegetarian: Green bean frittata over lettuce and soft-corn tortillas with either teff or amaranth porridge. I add cinnamon to both cereals, and chopped pecans to the teff. For my breakfast drink, I throw half a banana and a navel orange in the blender with distilled water to cover and push go. For my lunch drink, it's a quarter of an avocado, a quarter of a cucumber (seeded) with either frozen pineapple or Aldi fiesta blend (strawberries, papaya, mango, pineapple), blended. At supper, I just drink distilled water.
    Oh, I take kelp tablets for iodine with breakfast on non-fish days, and half an old-guy multi-vitamin on fish days. Could just as easily take those daily but I don't want to risk overdoing the iodine.
    On the whole, a fun and healthy lifestyle without gluten, casein or soy. Now if I could only kick the heroin...

The best doctor in the whole joint

    My dad's having a bodily function situation which in my mercy, I won't describe (though if anyone has a burning curiosity to know, just comment below and I'll reply, more or less off-stage); the point is, that drawing on his long-ago medical training, he's solving it himself. He quite definitely is the best doctor in the whole joint.
    In other Dad news, the occupational therapist indicated that he might be ready to come home soon. We said, "Nuh-UH! You've got to keep him!" (We did not!) This however, seems quite premature as he isn't walking by himself yet, nor doing any self-care. We got to see the occupational therapy session, which was pretty straightforward and fairly limited. Just range-of-motion exercises in his wheelchair. He stood up for us without a walker just to show off. He's doing so much better that it's awesome. He is peeling a lot from his right calf for some reason. No discomfort to speak of, though.
    The dialysis facility has asked the nursing home to give Dad Phoslo with meals to lower his phosphorus levels. The former and the drug are both owned by Fresenius; I again feel like I've put my dad in the hands of Amway. But it seems like a reasonable request.
    I keep forgetting to mention that Margaret has scheduled her hip replacement for late this month. She'll have to rehab for the two weeks or so afterwards. She should be up and good as new by 10/10. Hopefully, Dad will be, too!

Football hooligans and the voice of God

    During my junior year abroad at Canterbury, one professor assigned a term paper to be due at the END of spring break. (Weasel.) So not surprisingly, when spring break rolled around, I had yet to write a word. I went up to London and took a room in a dorm at the University thereof. I found, not to my great surprise, that the application of Strongbow cider to the problem didn't provide much inspiration, so I took a walk.
    At Euston Road tube station, across from St. Pancras and Euston stations, a young man ran past me. Several other young men were chasing him. One caught him, and the chasers started hitting him. In London, where road works are going on, rather than put out orange traffic cones, they put out yellow heavy metal lanterns about two feet high. One of the hooligans picked one up and started hitting the young man with it.
    Londoners were passing by like this was nothing, or none of their business. It was too much for one American, though. I walked up and pulled out the voice of God, saying, "STOP!" They stopped. One said something like, "He was asking for it, innit?" but they melted away with no further show of violence. I helped the young man up. Fortunately, the University of London has a hospital, or one nearby, so I just had to escort him around the block to the casualty department.
    The young man told me that the hooligans attacked him because of his scarf promoting a football (soccer to you) team that they didn't like. He also told me I had saved his life. I don't know about that, but was glad to help. It took a while (seems like weeks, but that seems unlikely) to get the fleck of his blood off my glasses. He said he was OK to go in the hospital himself, so I left him there.
    And I collapsed completely. I can't and couldn't really reconcile my self-image with acts of courage however minor. Did not know how to cope. Eventually made my way to Soho, where I found an intercontinental pay phone, and was able to talk to my brother Frank, who fortunately understood. Then I started feeling better.
    I packed up and went back to Canterbury, where I took a room in a 14th century b&b near Westgate and wrote my paper in four days. Paid a university secretary to type if for me, and sauntered off to explore Yurop. Which is another story.

Eggs

    Publix has a certain difficulty with shipping and otherwise transporting (i.e., within the stores) eggs. Almost every dozen eggs has at least one cracked one. Having learned this many times in the past, I always open the carton (more often cartons) and check closely before picking one. The other day, I had to go through two or three before I found one with no cracked eggs. I leave them open so that (one hopes) staff will throw out the cracked ones and rearrange the cartons with only uncracked eggs.
    The other day I did this, and a young woman was checking for the same thing. She, however, reclosed the cartons where she found cracked eggs and put them back. Question: who was being thoughtless? She was being thoughtful to the degree that she left her surroundings neat, but leaving the cartons with broken eggs hidden means that either somebody else has to duplicate her effort or somebody will get home with cracked eggs and will be peeved with Publix. I'm being thoughtless to the degree that I leave the surroundings in disarray, but the situation is easy to fix and will benefit both Publix and the customers for an employee to do so. Who's being thoughtless? Publix. They should have somebody checking the eggs when they're delivered and displayed. (That was easy.)
    I was almost tickled to have a borderline nightmare the next night or so to the effect that I had in fact brought home Publix eggs and one was in fact cracked. The horror! Also, oddly enough, one of my rare vivid dreams. I guess my mind's eye can manage pink cartons and white ovals.

Football!

    Dad had a very good day yesterday. Apparently, all he needs is football on TV. He was very alert during our entire visit. At 4, the physical therapist showed up, wanting an hour. He was horrified, as the Gamecocks game started at 4:30. However, she assured him that we could change the channel in the gym, so then he was reasonably enthusiastic.
    She had never worked with him before, so she gave him a pretty easy time. But he walked farther than he had previously, and she had a lot of good ideas for increasing his range of movement (without, all importantly, preventing him from watching the game). We had to leave before he was done, but it seemed like a pretty good workout.
    The only fly in the ointment (there's always one, isn't there?) was that his blood sugar was very high. They gave him insulin and when it was still high the next time they checked, they gave him more even though it was coming down. Probably standard operating procedure; I just wasn't absolutely sure that they knew that he'd previously been given it.

Try this at home, kids!

 Edit: If you've visited before, note that I changed the cooking times. Forgive brain cramp.

    This is how to make portable baklava. (Trail mix, more or less.)
    You will need two pans, one smaller and one larger (unless you have much greater dexterity than I have).
Preheat oven to 300 degrees. This doesn't take long, but you have to do it at some point, so you may as well do it now.
    Take a large mixing bowl. Add 4 tablespoons of honey (I use clover honey from Aldi) and 2 of olive oil (extra virgin, also from Aldi). This goes much quicker if you do it in this order: 1 T olive oil, 2 T honey, then repeat. Add one teaspoon of cinnamon or one, maybe two teaspoons of cocoa  and one of vanilla or, if you're daring, all of the above. Mix thoroughly. (See bottom of post for more about cocoa.)
Add a cup of puffed brown rice cereal (available from health food stores) or rice krispies (if you aren't celiac). Mix even more thoroughly.
    Add half a cup of chopped (raw) almonds and a quarter cup each of chopped (also raw) pecans and sunflower seed kernels (raw, too). (I get the almonds from Aldi and chop them in a food chopper. I get the pecans from Aldi, too and the sunflower seeds from Publix. Have to drive out to the suburbs, though. (Grumble grumble grumble)) Mix to whatever degree seems appropriate to you.
    Cover your smaller pan with aluminum foil. Spread the nut mixture out in pan. Stick in oven for 10 minutes. Cover your larger pan with aluminum foil, too. When time is up, put the aluminum foil and larger pan (preferably in that order) on top of the smaller pan. Using an oven mitt, flip the two pans. Get the smaller pan off carefully, then its aluminum foil. Scrape off as much as you can and add it to the bigger pan. You may then have to lick a lot of honey from the aluminum foil. I think you're up to it.
    Give the larger pan another 10 minutes. Afterwards, let cool for 5-10 minutes. Then put in a reclosable bag. (You may have to lick more honey off more aluminum foil. Dang it to heck.) Let cool in refrigerator for at least a half hour, preferably an hour. Then all you have to do is try not to eat it all at once. And fight off marauders.

Last edit: If you've visited this page before, you may have seen a lot more edits here. I was struggling with the cocoa version and finally figured out I was putting in too much cocoa. In the test kitchen, I have just tried out using a teaspoon of cocoa (that's unsweetened cocoa if you couldn't guess from all the honey also going in) and it turned out a little light on chocolate flavor, but very pleasant. I'm pretty sure you could get away with two teaspoons, but I'm absolutely sure that a full tablespoon is too much. Winds up tasting like coffee and not entirely in a good way.

Edit after the last edit: I invented Krispy Kremes! Turns out that adding a teaspoon of vanilla to the two of cocoa solves all problems. Crazy mad delicious, and not in any way reminiscent of coffee. Next edit after the last edit: why not coconut?

The next cut on the broken record

    The one called, "Two steps forward, one step back." Dad had another sleepy day yesterday, but this one included all the talking in his sleep, thinking the nurses were there to test his blood sugar. I was hoping all that stuff was a side effect of the Dilantin. Of course, it's possible that having taken the stuff for 3 months, he's taking a long time getting rid of it all. But it's a bit dispiriting.
    On the brighter side, the Good Morning Index says that Obama's jobs plan is going to work. Two "good mornings" this morning! Yay!

A not particularly agonizing reappraisal

    I gave up gluten four years ago, because it appeared and appears likely that I have celiac sprue. This is an autoimmune disorder that causes your body to attack itself if you ingest wheat, barley, barley malt, rye or oats, though the inclusion of oats is open to question. Evidence was pretty strong: I had wandering neuropathy, associated with vitamin B12 depletion, and some pretty spectacular lactose intolerance. Both of these cleared up quickly when I quit gluten. (I also lost 4 inches and 40 or 50 pounds, but that's another story.)
    Medical science takes a pretty binary view towards celiac sprue: you either have it or you don't. If you do, you have to avoid all gluten forever. It seems to me that every other condition known to medical science manifests as a continuum, with symptoms from mild to grave. My celiac symptoms are much milder than are those of most celiacs. It seems like I could maybe let my hair down a bit and still be fairly safe. It took 30-odd years to show any symptoms whatever after all.
    Mainly, it's the prognosis that bothers me. If I'm celiac and ate gluten for 45 years, I'm dead meat. It's a certainty I'm getting intestinal cancer within ten years or so, and it has no symptoms. So I need some way to stay optimistic about living into the 2020s. I like the idea that if I dodged the bullet as far as getting symptoms in the first place is concerned, maybe I dodged it as regards cancer, too. Fella can hope, can't he?

Loving being bored

    Granted, Dad napped most of the time we visited yesterday, and we read. But he woke and he and Margaret had a very nice visit. He continues sounding better, looking better and showing signs of improving daily. I could love being bored like this all the way through his nursing home stay. The only bad thing was when he couldn't open a canister of Planter's nuts. Not the vacuum seal; just the plastic lid. So his fine motor control isn't what you'd want. Then again, that's what occupational therapy is for.
    In the Not Being Bored Department, it's very nice to see the good people of Drinking Liberally once a week. A long-lost member came back last night; maybe we'll all start drifting back. It's a superlative group as it is, but it's always great to see more people come.

Good signs

    Dad was much more awake and alert yet again yesterday. He's also started reading the kidney book that the dialysis facility gave me (presumably to give him) when I did all the paperwork for him. I think that this is a good sign in so many dimensions. That he's reading up on kidney function and dialysis indicates a desire and willingness to live with the latter and fight on. That he's willing to read something that dull indicates a reawakening of intellectual curiosity and intelligence. So yippie and yay, and we get to see him again today. (Yippie! Yay!)

Weeeird

    Last night my dream set new standards for weirdness, or at least for weird thoroughness. An attractive dark-haired woman walked up to me and said that she was starting a band and had advertised for members. She showed me what looked to be a glossy magazine, saying that the person who replied was pictured there. It was a pictorial with a lot of snow. (Lately I've been dreaming about snow a lot. I really doubt that I'm cold at night in this weather. Maybe elevating my head on the slant pillow makes it cold. Dunno.)
    Regardless (note to self: stop saying "regardless" and "anyway"), he had black hair done in a Flock of Seagulls cut. His hair was the same length as hers but she didn't like my mentioning this. I thought that the book/magazine must have been something he had paid for himself, and noted that it would be useful to have somebody that rich in a band. I closed the book/magazine; the cover said "Vogue: Music" (making it a magazine by this portion of the dream). She said there was no such magazine as "Vogue: Music." And that was about it, really.
    I appreciate that it isn't a very interesting dream; I'm not sure even Dr. Freud could have gotten all that much out of it. (Well, only Dr. Freud could.) It's just weird to have a dream that thorough, especially as I'm listening to sports talk radio all night. I could see dreaming in depth about the pennant races or college football. But a vivid dream about a completely fictitious person in a very peculiar situation. Odd.

Whatta we dooooo?

    (Nothing serious, as I hope is obvious from the spelling.) Because of the Labor Day holiday, Dad has dialysis today (Sunday) instead of tomorrow. This seems more than a little crazy to me, but there you go. So this means that we visit tomorrow instead of today. Threw us for a loop totally. I'm still not sure I won't show up in front of Margaret's house at 12:30 just out of habit. Anyway, I'm free as a bird today, without even any cooking responsibilities, having gotten several days ahead already. Aaaand... nuthin' to do. Electrifying guy that I am, I'll probably just read all day.
    Dad was much more alert and awake yesterday. Apparently he had his physical therapy in the morning before we arrived. Margaret felt that he was much more nearly back to normal. (I spent much of the visit out trying to find him a better radio, since the USC game wasn't on TV and his radio could barely bring in a signal. But I couldn't find anything that would likely do any better. I hope he got by.) So good news, that!

Feeling no pain

    My chronic back troubles go away when I sleep on my slant pillow. While Robert is correct that I would be helped by rolfing, I'm pretty sure it wouldn't make the 2-4 herniated discs in my back magically fix themselves. On the other hand, it's hard to feel much like doing anything about something that can be fixed by simply sleeping on a slant pillow about two nights out of seven. (I also amped up my kale consumption to improve my calcium intake; maybe that helped, too.)
    Somehow, whenever I think of taking this to a doctor, I envision him whipping out a rusty scalpel, saying, "I wanna TRY something! It always worked on cadavers!" I guess I don't have that doctor phobia totally licked quite yet... Anyway, it's cool that my back doesn't hurt anymore, right?

Sleepy

    Dad still mostly sleeps through our visits. Yesterday, apart from finishing lunch when we arrived, he slept through the entire visit. I was hoping he would be more energetic without the Dilantin. We hope that they're tiring him out with more extensive and intensive physical therapy routines. He says it's the heavy lunches that make him so sleepy, which is also possible. Clearly, we could keep him awake by singing or talking. We're just inclined to let him do as he wants to do. Weekends, they tend to give him PT during our visits, so hopefully they'll stick to that procedure so we'll get to spend more time with him awake. And we look forward to it.

Cult recruitment continues disappointing

    I can't believe it. You would think it would be easy to get people to join a cult with only one tenet, Hippocrates' greatest hit ("First do no harm"). What's more, I don't want anybody's money (much) and nobody has to sleep with the cult leader (unless they really want to). Obviously I need to think this through more. I'll call it Obscurantology and tell them they have to pay me to reveal the mysteries. Once I have their money, I'll tell them there aren't any mysteries. That'll do it!