Out-dreamt myself

    I was God, or maybe Jesus. I was chatting with Moses. I had skipped school that day because a) I had important divine business to take care of (it was specified in the dream but I forget) and b) I hadn't done my homework. I was razzing Moses about him being 4,000 years old, and how he would phrase that in a personal ad. ("Just starting my 5th millennium...") My homework was something to do with him, too, but I can't remember what that was, either. Oh, and I was living in a supermarket. For once it was a wholly imaginary one, rather than the Colonial Store that used to be next to the KMart on Fort Jackson Blvd and which figures so prominently in my dreams most of the time.
    Generally, I find that these totally bizarro dreams mean that I need to use the bathroom, and that certainly was the case. But boffo, that was a pretty weird one. Maybe I ought to ease back on the curry buffets.

Catchphrase purge

    I have, and have always had, an unfortunate tendency towards the catchphrase. Alice always claimed that my NPR program would be called "Be That As It May, with John Dantzler," though I honestly don't remember ever saying that particular one. (I will admit that it sounds like something I would say, though.) In recent years, it has been, "On the short list of really good ideas ISN'T found..." whatever is irritating me at that particular moment, tailgating, say. And I fully understand that it's a silly phrase to latch onto, too cumbersome, too circumlocutious (if that's a word). In other words, on the short list of really good ideas ISN'T found... saying "On the short list of good ideas ISN'T found..."
    This is what comes from spending all your time talking to a kitty. She isn't very discriminating, so long as whatever you say is punctuated with scritches.

Everything's $3

    At Rosewood Market, I bought kale and rice noodles, each of which was $2.99. So I said to the teller, "It's a beautiful day today at Everything's $3!" Which drew a smile, fortunately. (I would call her older, since she has white hair, but she's probably younger than me. That happens a lot lately.)
    I'm a bit weatherish and should probably not risk infecting my dad, but Margaret wants to visit and I'm her ride. So I'm hitting the Listerine hard and making chicken noodle soup (what the rice noodles were for) and planning to hold my breath a lot. Or, I dunno, go to the big and tall shop and try to find him some warmer clothes for the colder weather. It happens to be conveniently located. Kismet, I'm thinking.

Incorrecting

    A few weeks ago at Drinking Liberally, a young woman mentioned the pe-CAHNS in my portable baklava and I reflexively said "pee-cans." I made a joke of it and certainly wasn't seriously disagreeing with her pronunciation, but on some fundamental level, I probably was. Your accent gets so ingrained that it becomes a part of you. Also, I always felt that the wood should be pronounced one way and the nut another. (Not that this approach requires either to be pronounced "pee can." Pi-CAHN and pi-CANN, respectively, probably meet the situation well enough.)
    This Tuesday at DL, I had to correct (apologetically, even embarrassedly), or rather incorrect a young man regarding the local pronunciation of a nearby road, settlement and lake called Monticello. We pronounce it MontiSELLo. Mortifyin'.
    The Southernese pronunciation that I've never quite believed is "bedroom suit." No one has ever said it to me directly, but they say it in local TV furniture store ads (or did when I watched TV). I always picture my imaginary incorrecter saying, "No, (pronounced, unspellably, somewhere between "Naw" and "Now," like Andy Griffith did in "No Time for Sergeants") it isn't 'bedroom SWEET.' It's bedroom SUIT. You ain't from around here, are ya?"

Free free free

    I still fantasize about opening a store featuring only gluten-free casein-free soy-free foods. In my fantasy, the name would be No! No! No! because I think it's funny. But I have to admit that Free Free Free would probably bring in more customers. Only problem with that is of course that people might think that I'm giving everything away. I appreciate that it's a pain in the butt leaving comments on Blogger, but I'm pretty sure that using the Reaction tool doesn't require giving up any information or any other pain or agony. If you'll vote "Funny" for No! No! No! or "Zippy" for Free Free Free. Or comment. Or, you know, email me. I'd be grateful, but if nobody does, you need not worry about it. This is still totally hypothetical, after all.

It'll be easy

    Sure. All we have to do is talk Dad into spending money on himself. At the previous nursing home, (sister) Anne had to deposit $40 into an account so that he could get a haircut. The haircut cost $12 so there was a balance due. Anne didn't care about it but Dad was fairly adamant that we get that money back. (It was no problem.) But the point is that free spending isn't in his makeup.
    If we can get Dad moved to assisted living, Medicare B will pay for any therapy he needs, but he'll have to cover room and board. This will mean something like hundreds a day, thousands a week. I'm not sure he'll be willing, but he certainly knows that he needs to be stronger. Hopefully, he'll see the light and do the math; it's not like he can't afford it.
    Also, as I think I've said already, he and Margaret really need to move to some place built for people their age, i.e. with railings on all walls and fittings and convenient to health care personnel. Talking them into that'll likely be double the challenge!

Peeled

    It is no news flash that English has a number of dialects. but I at least am always surprised when I have to learn a new one. As a person who used to date a daughter of a shrimping family, I would have thought I had shrimpese down, but no. At the fish market, I always asked for "shelled" shrimp, and got mad when they brought me shrimp with shells on. As it turns out, at least in Columbia, what I needed to ask for was "peeled" shrimp. Did so yesterday with happy results. And the shrimp boil turned out awesome, even when I forgot to put the garlic in. Huzzah!

Miracle

(The usual "Here be bodily functions" warning obtains here; I'll try to be gentle.)
    When Dad left the previous nursing home, he needed help with both of the popular excretory functions we all enjoy or at least have difficulty living without every day. Between yesterday and today, all that changed. He did each of the first two ordinal numbers by himself with no assistance from enema, in-out catheterization or nurses in any way. It's hard to convey how major this is; try to remember that it has been many months since either thing has happened. Try to imagine how hard it would be to live independently if you couldn't do either #1 or #2 by yourself.
    Although I kid a bit about this being a miracle, all it really took was for him to have a comfortable chair so he could sit up most of the time and a walker to be available to him at all times. At the other place, he only had a walker or a cane for physical therapy. The chairs available in his room were two uncomfortable chairs for visitors and a wheelchair that was too small for him. And anyway, not having a cane or a walker, he couldn't get there. So he spent 23 hours a day in bed. Not surprisingly, this didn't do a lot for his digestive system. At the new place, just add recliner and walker and SHAZAM: instant miracle.
    There's still a lot of work to do. He still needs to be stronger. He still needs to be able to give himself insulin injections. Somebody has to be able to drive. (The doctor had suggested that Margaret might not be allowed to drive for months, though she is sure that this won't be the case.) They ought to move into a house that has rails to hold onto in every room, and ideally located near a nursing home so that medical care is available immediately if needed. But things certainly look a lot rosier than yesterday.

Reunion

    Friday evening, Margaret called and asked if I could take her to see Dad the next day (now yesterday). I said sure, that I would just need directions to Linda (her daughter)'s new house. They called yesterday with those and off I set. Turned out that because of interstatage (freewayage?) it took no longer to pick her up there and take her out to the hinterlands than it did to pick her up at her own house. So I felt silly about setting out a half hour early, but then they got an extra half hour together, so not that silly.
    They were very, very, very happy to see each other again. It was a truly great reunion. I think she cried more beforehand than at the actual event. (She had thanked me for bringing her; I assured her truthfully that I was delighted to be able to.) There was a certain degree of Family Guy type comedy regarding getting two walkers arranged such that they were within reach but not in anybody's way, but no problems. It was achingly, boundlessly sweet seeing them together again. They sat together on his bed for a good while, then he let her use his recliner. Then they of course fell asleep for much of the visit. But they were holding hands.
    Margaret doesn't think she'll be able to visit during the week, since she still has physical therapy herself for another week. But I'm taking her back today. I'm very much looking forward to it.
    I also set Dad's cell phone so that hitting any button, rather than just the Send button, will answer any incoming calls. That might solve his problem with missing calls. If not, we can always get him another phone. He has been able to call out at least.

Pasta physics

    Back when I ate wheat, I was always bewildered that elbow macaroni would never stop expanding, while other forms of pasta would. Now that I eat pasta made from brown rice instead, I'm still bewildered that elbow macaroni never stops expanding, while other types do. What is it about the elbow form? Or is it the elbow name? Fusilli are or is practically the same thing exactly but doesn't turn into noodle monsters as long as there's water in there somehow to plump it or them. Is this some kind of The Blob phenomenon? Are elbows really invaders from space? Serious minds need to know! (Well, frivolous ones, but still.)

Two months late but coming on like a freight train

    Dad is finding it a new and delightful experience to have nursing home staff actually do what he asks them to do. Even moreso that they ask him his wants and needs, and actually accede to them. They wanted to put him on a strict diabetic diet with fluid restriction (the latter the other facility said they had him on, but didn't). He declined, so they just had him sign a waiver and he was off all restrictions. Pow!
    I didn't do a very good job of showing him how to use the cell phone, so he's probably effectively still phoneless, but if he asks them, they'll probably help him with that, too. Or in the worst case I'll walk him through it better tomorrow.
    Of course, now I'm beating myself up doubly hard for not sending him here in the first place. How different might everything be? Still, the other place did a good job on the physical therapy and more or less kept up with his daily needs. Anyway, they weren't quite criminally negligent. But oh I feel like an idiot about now.

Jeez, how autistic AM I?

    Yesterday was Dad's moving day, which would have gone smoothly if I had planned the phone situation better. Unfortunately, I played it by ear, which didn't work out so well. I had his old cell phone and the new smart phone that sister Anne had bought for him. I had overmuch faith that the Verizon store would be able either to resurrect the one or make the other usable for him. John at the Verizon store disabused me of the first notion, saying that the phone was 10 years old and nobody makes batteries for it anymore.
    He did sell me a charger for the smart phone with a three-foot cord instead of the two-foot one it came with, but it turned out not to work. So not a good day at the Verizon store. (John did download and install an app killer for me, so it might have been a useful visit after all.) I rearranged the furniture in Dad's room so that the two-foot cord wasn't a problem. But I still don't know if he'll be able to use the smart phone, and because I didn't know when he would arrive, I couldn't be there to walk him through it.
    I felt awful leaving him with no way to call Margaret or get her call. Eventually, I remembered that William has a new cell phone, meaning that his old one is superfluous. I picked it up and got a new Net10 card and added minutes and days and voila: we're good to go. I think that will work better for Dad than the smart phone and will be much less of a temptation to room visitors. But it's a measure of my Asperger's that I was totally keyed up all day about leaving Dad phoneless and became relaxed and happy once I figured out the solution-- even though Dad was still in fact phoneless. Totally autistic, I am.
    Also yesterday, I was supposed to do the orientation call to become the new host for Drinking Liberally, and completely forgot. Damn damn damn. Can do it again in less than two weeks, and nobody died, but still. Damn damn damn.

This is the day

    Dad moves from UniHealth to Rice Estate today. The plan is still that they will pick him up for dialysis normally and drop him off at the new place instead. I'll pick up all or nearly all of his stuff this morning and take it to the new place to be ready for him. The phone situation is complicated. To get a normal land line, I'd have to get a phone and set up an account with the phone company as if he were moving in, which we hope he's not. So I think I'll try him out with a cell phone. Unfortunately, his regular cell phone will no longer charge, so I'll take it around to Verizon and see if there's a simple fix.
    His smart phone is also available and I'm more confident that it won't go walkies at this facility than at the other, not least because it's a semi-private room. Anne says it's insured so she doesn't mind if I leave it with him. Only fly in the ointment is that its battery life is very poor and its charge cord is very short. But if there's an outlet close enough to a bedside table, it might be sufficient. It would be neat for him finally to get to use it after all these months.
    For whatever reason, I'm scared to death. There's no reason at all that this should be any problem at all. Except for the rainy weather, it ought to be sort of fun. But anxiety is very, very high. Hope all turns out well.

Not a fan

    Had a dental appointment this morning, and got to try ultrasonic cleaning. I was assured that I'd had it before, and I guess I had because I went in a panic when I noticed there were no cups on the apparatus, meaning that my mouth was going to be dried out by suction. The suction wasn't a problem this time; in fact, it was an improvement. The ultrasonic, however, was flat torture. I eventually had to give the cut signal. I'm not such a fan of having every hair on my body standing on end. Five seconds of it I could have withstood; more than that was more than I could countenance. I'm sure it's a great boon to the stone deaf patients, though.
    Other than that, the appointment went great. I still have to work on the bottom teeth. It just doesn't seem like a skill I'll ever master. But though there's the chance that my gums might go bad, nobody much thinks I'll be getting any more cavities. The one in the cranium is quite enough to worry about.

Onions

(Dad's move date got changed to Wednesday. I did do all the paperwork for the move, though, but all the heavy lifting got put off. Hence this piece of fluff:)
    The onions I buy are always labeled "sweet onions," but oh my. Sometimes, today for instance, "sweet" isn't exactly the world. Ow ow ow ow ow I went blind I cried so hard. I badly needed somebody to tell me a sad story, as my mom used to say in similar situations. I'm still sniffing a bit a half hour or more after cutting up the damned thing. If laughter's the best medicine, are tears good for anything? I better go read a Harry Potter death scene.

Expectations

    Dad has one more day at the Nursing Home To Be Trained Later. The plan is for him to go to dialysis normally Monday but to be taken to the new nursing home instead of back to the old one. I did finally tell him that he would be going to a semi-private room and there might not be either a TV or a phone at first. (It hadn't been a deliberate omission; things just happened so fast.) He didn't go ballistic or seem troubled at all; his only concern was that they know what treatments he needs. After Unihealth, I can hardly blame him.
    I must admit to gothic nightmares of a nurse showing up for in-out catheterization with a bike pump and a drinking straw, but really I think the staff at Rice Estate is much, much more competent. Anyway, it certainly is no snake pit and in the worst scenario, he gets to get a little stronger using up the rest of his Medicare days and will be ready to move in with Margaret when she's ready for him to move in. (She's expecting to leave the hospital tomorrow, but going to her daughter Linda's rather than home.) I think it will work out; anyway I certainly hope so.
    I also admit to being actively afraid when I turned up at Unihealth for my visit yesterday, but have no idea why. Everyone was perfectly cordial, and as far as I could tell, most of the staff had no idea he is leaving soon. I would just as happily keep that up until the end. I hope he gets some kind of care during his remaining time. I noticed he was wearing a button-front shirt, which is normally what he wears for dialysis days, suggesting that they hadn't changed his clothes yesterday. I'll be fairly peeved if he's wearing the same shirt today. Also he has some red in his eye, hopefully just conjunctivitis. They're giving him drops; with luck, that will clear it up. Anyway, he wasn't feeling any pain, or so I conclude from the fact that he thought it was his right eye when it was the left. A good sign, I guess.

26.0 Cleaning Effectiveness

    I bought three vacuums yesterday. The first was a rebuilt Eureka! from Big Lots. Unfortunately, they forgot to put in the assembly instructions. However, I could see that one of the screws had to go in just one place to fix the base part with the upright part. Unfortunaterly, it wouldn't fit. So back to Big Lots it went.
    At Kmart, I bought another Eureka!, the bottom of the line model this time. Printed on the base part, where it normally would say something like "Maximum 12 Amps" was "26.0 Cleaning Effectiveness." I'm afraid that I was so captivated by the aggressive meaninglessness of this statement that I had to buy the damned thing. It didn't occur to me until later that they might have left out "... Out Of 100.0" or maybe 1000.0. I also bought a Philips-head screwdriver, since you nearly always need those and apparently I had returned Dad's last time I borrowed it. But it wasn't necessary. It was the easiest assembly ever, but a total piece of crap. Basically a Dust Buster on a stick, it had a little cloth cup filter in the dust cup so I had to pick all the dirt and kitty hair out of the cloth. If I wanted to do that, I'd just clean the carpet by hand with a comb. So back it went.
    The third one was a Kenmore. It assembled neatly, thanks to the Philips-head, and worked well, though its dust cup isn't so amenable to giving up kitty hair either. The manual said that if it was hard to push, to turn the carpet height dial to the next higher setting. I did and it worked great. Which suggests that that was all I would have had to do with the vacuum I have already, and that I now have two working vacuums, one surplus to requirements. It also suggests that my carpet is growing. Creepy!

Procedure II: This time with the procedure

    So yesterday morning, a couple of guys with a stretcher came to my dad's room and asked if he was ready for his doctor's appointment. He said that he didn't know anything about a doctor's appointment and asked them to check. They did and said that it was him all right so he went along. They took him to another branch of the company that does his dialysis where a doctor did a sonogram of his arm to make sure that his months ago (and still unnecessary) graft wasn't causing any problems. It wasn't, so there.
    Later, while I was visiting, a nurse's aide at the nursing home came in to tell him that he wasn't to bend the arm or use it much. As this was totally at variance with what the doctor had just told him, we treated the advice somewhat casually. After she was gone, he said (jokingly), "It's my arm and I'll use it how I please!" I'm always happy to see these little bursts of personality.
    Burying the lead: The facility wants to send Dad home as soon as next week. The first suggestion I heard was Sunday, though they seem to have backed off from that idea. While I'm thrilled beyond words that they feel that he's made this much progress, neither he nor I feel that he's anywhere near ready. I talked to the social worker today to convey that at the very least he needs some occupational therapy that actually has something to do with daily living (as against picking up a weighted stick, which is all the OT that I've seen there) and to be much stronger. Also, Margaret isn't ready for him to move in yet, as she's still rehabbing from her hip replacement. I don't know how I did at getting the message across, but it was worth a shot.
    Actually, the nurse just called me to say that they were going to try a stool softener for his chronic constipation. (Edit: there was a bit here that was gross and where I showed my ass by saying something that was completely wrong, or anyway out of date. I'll just leave it out and you can take my word for it that I'm willing to admit when I'm wrong.)

Edit: I called Rice Estate, where I've been trying to transfer Dad to practically since he arrived, and they actually have a bed available. So I called him and actually caught him before they took him to dialysis, and he thought it would be a good idea to move, too.  So I've started the process moving. The social worker at his present facility wanted me to meet with various top staff to air my grievances and try to have him stay but I pointed out that a) the bed at Rice Estate would hardly stay open long and b) they already said that he had met his full potential in terms of rehabilitation anyway. So he might be moving as soon as Monday. I think it's a semi-private room with no TV, so he may not be well-pleased. But it should be for only a matter of a few weeks. We'll see.

Kitty sneezing

    Yes, I know. It's the ultimate blogging cliche. "My cat looked out the window! My cat was so cute trying to chase a squirrel!" But hell, I was pretty worried. She was sneezing all week, and I really thought I was going to have to take her to the vet. At the same time, my throat got very scratchy and my breathing passages somewhat inflamed. I suspect that we're just having a multi-species allergy flairup. The vacuum cleaner is working very badly, in spite of a new HEPA filter and sponge filter. I think it's headed for the great broom closet in the sky. Maybe we're just putting up with more dust than previously and not coping well.
    The reason I mention all this is because with a sore throat, I can't decide whether or not to visit Dad today. It's not like I'm feeling awful. I meant to buy some Benadryl with the idea of testing whether this is allergies or not, then completely forgot to buy it when at Aldi. So I can't be all that sick. My Facebook friends are advising me to keep to the safe side and not visit. I'm still mentally flipping coins. Of course, I can always call ahead and ask him; as I keep saying, he's the best doctor in the joint!

Drinking liberally except for the drinking part

    I have committed to taking over for my friend Amy as the host of Drinking Liberally. This is funny or at least ironic since I don't drink at all anymore. But of course I don't mind if other people do. Last night, only three of us showed up, but I think that was a reflection on the weather, not my cooties. To be honest, I would have blown it off, too, if I hadn't said I'd host. It's a terrific group with an ever-changing membership, and we only hope Amy is able to come back and visit as often as possible.

"I hate you! You are not my friend!"

    As the State Fair gets ready to reopen tomorrow, I am reminded of a time, nine years ago I think, when Alice and I made a visit. We decided to ride the roller coaster, bravely sitting at the very front, where if ever you're going to get a bumpy ride, you get the bumpiest. Sitting behind us were a black girl and a white girl, approximately teenaged. Apparently, the white girl had persuaded the black girl to ride the roller coaster (or maybe to ride sitting in the front car) and the latter let the former know about it. "I hate you! You are not my friend!" she shouted almost the whole way. It was very, very funny; I should note that she didn't sound very sincere, at least about the hating or not being friends part, though I think she was sincerely scared.

Hungry

    Can't understand why I'm hungry all the time lately; do you think I should eat more?
    No, seriously. I haven't made any major changes to my weird freaky diet recently, so I don't quite understand why I would be hungry a lot more of the time than previously. At the same time, I'm starting to have trouble fitting into my clothes; in other words, I'm getting fat again. I guess relaxing the hoodoo on goitrogens wasn't the greatest idea from the cosmetic viewpoint.
    On the other hand, I feel terrific; even my back seems to be knitting, or anyway not hurting. Headbone seems to be working most of the time, which is nice. Maybe it's just winter coming on; maybe I just need more avocado chocolate pudding. I expect I'll be checking into the latter possibility shortly.
    Better not be diabetes! I'm pretty fed up with diabetes stalking my family, to tell the truth. I could cope, of course, but I'd rather not. The last eight times I thought I was diabetic, it turned out to be nothing but dehydration. Not that I enjoy dehydration, but given the choice I'd pick it over diabetes any day.

Health care power of attorney

    Dad doesn't mind particularly, but notes that the nursing home much prefers to tell me what's going on rather than telling him. The extreme example was when they told me, but not him, that the bed sore on his sacrum (or posterior) had healed and that they were discontinuing treatment. Yes, folks, it's true that I have a health care power of attorney, but he's completely in possession of his marbles and can handle whatever news you might want to share. Also he's a DOCTOR. I will endeavor to convey this.
    In more cheerful news, I finally figured out what Amelia the cat is trying to say. It isn't "a-HEE-ya"; it's "IKEA." I'll be rich! She'll be advertising cat! This means that rather than the Norwegian forest cat I've always thought she is, clearly she's a Swedish one.

    In much, much sadder news, Margaret's son-in-law, Buddy Wages, died suddenly yesterday morning. He was under treatment for liver and lung cancer and they had just found out that it had spread to his brain, but everyone thought the outlook was good. He just stopped breathing. He was a wonderful husband, a wonderful father, and an all-around terrific fellow. He will be missed.

If I should suddenly go away...

    I know that no one but me is impressed that I haven't missed a day on this little enterprise in well over six months, but hey-- at least I am. I seem to be having trouble with the dialup connection, or possibly with the aging notebook, or something. Whichever it is, getting online is getting frustrating (and the notebook/ laptop is making funny noises, adding itself to the possible contributing factors).
    So I can't guarantee that I'll be able to do this every day. I'm sure all the strange people all over the world who according to the blog statistics are finding me by searching "get mema" (mema must be a really dirty word in every language but English) will be devastated.

Procedure

    Yesterday was another frustrating one. After breakfast, they told Dad that he couldn't eat or drink anything more, as "they" wanted to do a procedure on him. It was unclear who "they" might be, or what procedure it might be. He wasn't brought lunch at the normal time, but an hour later the nurse's aide brought a tray, saying that it could be heated up when the procedure was done. I asked if she could check to see when this might be and she said she would. She came back saying that "they" said they would send somebody at 1:45 (this was 1:30), but it might be 2:30. She added that "they" = the dialysis facility.
    Up to that point, we thought this was in connection with the blood in the urine incident of the other day, but now Dad said that the dialysis people were concerned about something to do with his left arm. That's where the unnecessary graft was put in before he left the hospital; the swelling never really went down. Apparently, they want to have a doctor look at it. I don't see much scope for any procedure being done at a dialysis facility (other than dialysis), so I would guess that this would be a matter of planning for a procedure, rather than doing one.
    Regardless, 2:30 rolled around and passed and the charge nurse called again. Apparently, the dialysis facility or the ambulance service or the doctor or somebody just couldn't get their act together, so she canceled. The nurse's aide heated Dad's main and side dishes, though not the soup. He wasn't too electrified by the offerings, but at least he could eat, and he certainly polished it all off.
    I don't know why they couldn't get the doctor to come by on any of the three days a week that he's already at the dialysis facility, or to have him come see Dad at the nursing home. Just crazy talk, no doubt. Hopefully, they'll have all this resolved soon. (Or, better still, hopefully the doctor will look at his arm and say, "Oh, that's fine. No problem.)

Let's Stay Together

    Long ago, when we were all a lot younger, and before I lived with her, Alice used to sing to her cat Madeline a lot. She got the best response with Al Green's "Let's Stay Together." Madeline would frolic, gambol, and  try to sing along. Madeline was not usually a particularly playful cat. She was high-flying and she was talkative, but she wasn't terribly playful. And she was hell to take to the vet.
    The last attribute was her tragic flaw. We eventually gave up trying to take her. When she started throwing up frequently, I changed her food. Frequency was lessened and I thought, wrongly, that she was better, that it was just hairballs.
    Finally, she stopped eating, lost weight dramatically and became visibly wobbly. I took her to the nearest vet and she didn't fight, which I guess should have told me all I needed to know. The vet said she had suffered both kidney and liver failure, and that though she could be kept alive, it was really time for her to go.
    I called Alice at work. She cried. We told the vet we would take Madeline home to spend some time with her, but would bring her back within the week. Alice came home. We fed Madeline some special canned food the vet had given her. She seemed to enjoy it, but couldn't keep it down. She was so tottery that it was pathetic, particularly for one who had been so high-flying so recently. Alice decided it was time, and we went back to the vet.
    Madeline had one shot to let her sleep, and the vet let us spend time with her. Alice sang her "Let's Stay Together" one last time (and goddammit I'm crying again). When she was sleeping, we left the room so the vet could give her the final shot.
    The crying wasn't over for a month, and would have lasted longer but for the arrival from the cattery of a ragdoll kitten Alice named Lily. She made her own place in our hearts, particularly Alice's, and helped the healing a lot.

REALLY Old Bluff Road

    To get to Congaree Swamp National Park from Columbia, you take Bluff Road most of the way, then turn on to Old Bluff Road to get the rest of the way to the entrance. For years now, I've had a recurring fantasy of opening a B&B near the park. As there is seldom a crush of visitors and as it's so close to Columbia anyway, it would probably be a pretty darn small B&B. But I think it would be awesome.
    Since the start of the 9-1-1 era (that's the phone number, not the date), every country road has to have a name and street sign, including even most driveways. In the case of driveways, people get to choose their own street name and you get a lot of Pit Bull Alley or Rattlesnake Road -type names. Thus, if I built such a B&B, I could have a street sign on Old Bluff Road reading Really Old Bluff Road.
    Boy, that was a long way to go for a very weak payoff, wasn't it? Well here's a better payoff: the nursing home just called to say that the bed sore on Dad's back has healed. She was looking for the right place on the form to find out how to address me other than "Is this the son of Mr. Dantzler?" I just laughed and said, "This is John." Hopefully, he only had the one bed sore and this is it. The way she said it, it sounded like there might be another one. I really need to think on my feet and ask people questions like that when I have them on the phone. Regardless, good news!

Your weight loss program is as follows

    Get a blender. Get an avocado, a cucumber, some frozen pineapple and, if you're as neurotic as I am (which may not be possible), distilled or purified water. Cut up a quarter of the avocado. Cut up and seed half the cucumber. Throw in the pineapple. Add water to cover and then some. My blender has graduations on the side; I fill to the highest line and that seems to work. Blend. Drink this with your lunch every day as your go-to beverage. I bet if you wanted you could do the same at supper, too.
    Of course, you might also want to take kelp tablets with your breakfast, or eat seafood every day. If you're using fluoride toothpaste and have finished growing, you might want to throw that out and brush your teeth with baking soda instead. And of course as I always say, heroin has been good to me. (KIDDING!) Seriously, quitting or cutting down gluten, soy and/or dairy consumption will all contribute to improving your thyroid function, which is the goal of all the above. Think about it.

Wrong about most everything

    I seem to specialize in being wrong about everything, especially my back. I manage to blame just about anything for my chronic back problems. I suspect that the spine randomly decides to snap back into place for no apparent reason and I just assume that whatever I did most recently was successful. At various times, I've thought that my back trouble is caused by too much fluoride, too little calcium (both in the diet), or (an allergy to) too many dust mites in the house.
    And any or all of these might be contributing factors. But the explanation that checks out best is that I need to be wearing shoes less than a year old with Dr. Scholl's orthotics inserts. These shoes look fine, but just don't seem to be giving support anymore, even with the doctor's help. (I'm pleased that the wear pattern shows that I'm not walking flat-footed these days, though.)
    I still want to get a bolster and put it under my knees at night and see if that helps, too. But I think new shoes would help more. I'm taking care of that today.

"Exasperated"

    The major research institution just up the road is now running a promo featuring the track and field coach talking about a hiking/running event to raise awareness of the importance of hydration. A voiceover guy comes on to tell us about all the awful things that can happen to you when you're dehydrated, remarking that various conditions can be "exasperated" by dehydration.
    Kids: the word you're looking for? "Exacerbate." Proofreading can be good for you.

Good day/ bad day

    Yesterday, I declared victory, which is always a mistake. I went to my two favorite places where cell phone service is questionable at best, Congaree Swamp National Park and Bill's Pickin' Parlor. Both were wonderful; a good time was had by... me, anyway.
    Which was good because today the piper had to be paid. I got a call at 8 this morning to the effect that Dad had bright red blood in his urine after the most recent in-out catheterization, and that a urinalysis had been ordered. I have talked to him and he feels fine, but I of course am worried. My best guess is something I can't say without contravening the libel laws. However, my best hope is that whatever's bleeding heals soon and that there isn't any long-term or major damage.