New dimensions in odd dreams

    Or directions, perhaps. Well in real life I was horizontal at the time, so maybe that affected it, but in the dream I was horizontal too, but more like quadrupedal. I've been hanging out with kitties too long I guess. My friend Robert had phoned me, but I received it on a gigantic unit built into the wall, like a combination computer/TV/phone, which as I say I was stretched out to. I couldn't quite reach it though. What he was sending me was a program that allowed me to scream out all my stresses and anxieties. Although I couldn't reach it, I gave it a pretty good shot, quadrupedally or not.
    The rest of the night I kept dreaming I was getting phone calls as in hearing the ring. This may be a shortcoming of a) listening to old-time radio shows that might feature ringing phones and b) choosing an old-time phone sound for my cell phone ring tone. Calls in the middle of the night are never good news, so I wasn't the least bit bothered, just relieved that there were no real calls and thus no real bad news.
    Margaret hit her leg with her cane, causing a painful bruise, so she isn't up to visiting Dad today. I may or may not go just to show the flag and make sure he has his football game on. I now remember that there was additional craziness yesterday that I left out of the craziness post. That was high levels of potty-mouth behavior on Dad's hall. Not us, for a change! There must have been something in the water yesterday. Or tryptophan flashbacks.

Too much crazy

    We had a pleasant visit with Dad this afternoon, except a lady from somewhere on the hall was loose in her wheelchair and kept rolling in. She just mumbled to herself, so there was no way to find out what she wanted; all we wanted was for her to leave. The first time it happened, I had stepped out due to a phone/WiFi problem, so I missed much of the adventure. Later, though, she tried to come in again. I told her politely but firmly (and fairly loudly) that it wasn't her room and she couldn't come in; eventually a staff member turned up and rolled her away.
    Dad said she comes in now and again; Margaret didn't like that. When we were leaving, we just about closed the door, and I said to the same staff member (probably not as softly as I should have), "We're just closing the door to keep the crazy lady out. Everybody else is welcome." She said that that lady would be having her medication soon. Presumably, that will slow her down.
    Not that it's cray-cray exactly, but the other issue of the evening was that Dad's egg salad sandwich was cold. I didn't tell Margaret that all the other 8 billion people on Earth eat their egg salad sandwiches cold on purpose; I just let her run down, and it warmed up by itself anyway. I did suggest putting the saucer on top of the bowl of soup that was too hot, but this idea did not seem to appeal.
    Dad's OK, but he still thinks it's a good idea to burp like b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b, i.e., exactly like crazy people have been portrayed in cartoons for the last 80 years or so. Pointing out that this isn't actually burping doesn't make any impression either. No big problem, so long as he doesn't mind going to the dementia ward with wheelchair grannie.

College gets easy

    I've mentioned and others have mentioned the often-seen dream where you're back in college and it's finals time and you completely forgot to drop a class that you never attended and OMG! And I've noted that recently my college-type dreams have gotten a lot more warm and friendly. Last night's entered a new realm, however. I was getting a little stressed about my classes and somebody (official) told me that it was no problem, all I had to do was keep a count of how much time I spent in the library. A few hours per day would be enough to ensure good grades, regardless of my actual class performance or grasp of the material.
    Now things in real life are getting pretty damn bad when your stress dreams are taking a stand and trying to help you chill out. I admit that I was rather delighted. Also I was in school with a lot of my Facebook friends (a lot of whom of course were people I was really in school with decades back) which was also fun.
    The family got together at Pizzeria Uno for a late lunch, early dinner. Grand-niece Mia had had enormous fun at EdVenture children's museum, so she was quite well-behaved and even smiled for a picture. (The other 95 or so pictures were also cute.) A lovely time was had by all.

A sweet Thanksgiving

    Well I for one was a little anxious about how Thanksgiving would go, because we couldn't bring Dad to Margaret's family's gathering without an ambulance, or rather two, one coming and one going. So that wasn't too workable. And we all wanted to go, but we none of us wanted to leave Dad alone on Thanksgiving. A quandary.
    As luck turned out, all planning was thrown off by a toddler having tantrums. My brother Malcolm was with Dad waiting on my sister Anne, who was waiting on her son James, his wife Cristina and especially their two-year-old Mia. This left all of them hungry except for Mia, but Dad was never left alone. When Anne arrived at Lowman Home, Malcolm joined us for Thanksgiving food and fellowship; shortly afterwards, I joined Anne. When James and family arrived, they visited briefly, then I led them to Bunny's house. Anne found her way when Malcolm came back to sit with Dad. Everybody had a pretty fabulous time. Well, Dad would have preferred to have the staff put him back to bed, but I know he was delighted with both visits from Mia. And we got some cool pictures. So hey-- everything turned out well. It's good to have a Thanksgiving you can be thankful for!

Slave to habit

    I've noted before what a slave I am to force of habit. Still am. My front door no longer closes too well. In short, you don't need to use the doorknob to open it; you can just shove your way in, even if it's locked. No problem; I can just turn the deadbolt. However, six years of habit do not shake loose easily. I cannot get myself to remember not to bother to lock the bottom lock nor to lock the deadbolt. Ever. Not once. I'm sure I'll get used to it, or it will get warm again and the door will expand. No bets on which happens first.
    Surprisingly, Dad has dialysis today. Normally on holidays at the other facility, he and everyone else would get all their days rearranged to give staff a day off. I guess ambulance cases get priority because of the number of personnel involved. I wouldn't have guessed.

Turned out well, though

    By today, sister Anne was feeling enough better to visit with Dad, so she, brother Malcolm, Margaret and I made a very nice visit. Malcolm and Anne had gotten Dad a new TV, which they set up for him, miraculously just in time for "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?" Then we found TCM and were captivated by "That's Entertainment" sequels, which everyone should go out of their way to see.
    All but Dad were joined by William at Lizard's Thicket, where we had a lengthy wait but then were pleasantly surprised by the much better than usual food. Well I wasn't, but I only order one thing (baked chicken, dark meat) and it's always good. But everybody else was. Other than that, due to grody weather, it wasn't such a great day. But hey! The cat's behaved. That counts as a miracle in my book every time!

Rotten stinking luck

    My sister Anne has been sick all month, so she couldn't come down to see Dad. (She, brother Malcolm, and her son James and his young family, all live in the Boston area.) As of Sunday, she thought she was getting better so she made her drive down. But unfortunately, she got worse instead, so now she's in town but can't see any of us for fear of passing it on to Dad, if not directly than through us. It's nothing serious, just a bad cold/flu type thing, but nothing to share with 94-year-olds. I'm sure it will clear up enough not to be contagious, and anyway there's such a thing as surgical masks. But it's just rotten stinking luck, and just not Thanksgivingy.
    I've been buying art and furniture. Cheap art and cheap furniture, of course, but still. It's almost like I've finally decided to move here after 6 years. Or like I've finally admitted that I won't ever be moving out with a girlfriend (since the place isn't big enough for two).

Dream movie

    Last night I had an ultra-weird dream even by my standards. Let's see if I can remember much of it. I was in the usual vast dormitory-like place. This time, though, my dad was there, too. Generally, it was a college dormitory, but apparently there was a nursing home attached. My dad had just been reassigned to a new room which was a leaky basement under a staircase. His bed was in a non-leaky section though, and they had sent along an extra mattress and box spring in case this set was uncomfortable.
    In real life, it was raining at the time, which might explain the rain in the dream. What I don't understand is why I kept hearing machinery noises; at approximately 6 on Sunday morning, there shouldn't have been any of that around. Anyway, in the dream, I had some extra sisters, all of whom were busily trying to get Dad into a private home.
    I wandered out to another room, where a movie was playing and I fell asleep. I thought I heard Robin Williams and identified the movie as "The Best of Times," a movie real John has never seen. Rapidly though it turned into a Richard Gere-Billy Crystal vehicle, wherein the two stars trade families and apparently communicate telepathically (even in Yiddish) with the new families. Even in the dream, this struck me as weird.
    There were a couple of strict old ladies, one of whom wrote me a bill for $7 for the movie. I was outraged, saying she should tear it up, that I was asleep during the movie. Then magically the movie turned into a meal. Stuffed flounder, I guess, but all I remember was the stuffing, which was all crabmeat and shrimp. Delicious! Suddenly I wasn't mad anymore and thought that they should charge me more, but for the seafood (which was still somehow part of the movie) and not the Richard Gere part.
    I hardly ever get to eat in a dream and it's hardly ever good if I do. The last time I remember doing so it was a gluten-inflected dream where I was eating pizza and then remembered that I can't. I don't remember any good dreams about food. Moreover, when I woke up, I badly needed the bathroom. I had been wishing that my brain could come up with some other approaches to waking me up in that situation other than having me dream about looking endlessly for urinals. If this is that solution, I hereby embrace it.
    Also also, in real life 35 years ago, Andy Durham and I and the daughters of the families we were staying with in Mulhouse, Alsace, France went to see "Days of Heaven" (Les Moissons du Ciel, or something like that) with Richard Gere. Can't speak for the girls, but Andy and I snored through it. Just a coincidence, no doubt.

Must be the comfort zone

    I got nothing, I'll admit it. However, I have been puzzled the last couple of days by wondrous weather that feels a lot different. Fifty degrees felt cold to very cold two days ago. Sixty degrees felt warm yesterday, but today feels cold. On the one hand, that must mean it's right around the human comfort zone. On the other, simpler explanations are also at hand. Two days ago it was windy, while yesterday was sunny. Today is sunny, too, but I didn't take my walk until the sun was coming down and I had to pass through a lot of shadows.
    Similarly odd is moving from environment to environment this time of year. The house is basically cold and dank. Outside is pleasant (daytime) or chilly (nighttime). The car is cold until I get going, and then because it's basically a greenhouse on wheels, it's too hot. Can't win, can you? Sorry about another content-free blog entry, but you were warned. Hey, no bad news from Dadville, so at least there's that! Due to the last home college football game, I couldn't visit him today either, but I'll be back on the job tomorrow. Sister is coming down early for Thanksgiving, so that'll be fun, too. Yay!

Yes he really did

    In the ultimate reversal of parent-child roles, Dad really did call me last night for a drink of water. Now I'll say again that I freely admit that I may be in denial about his condition. But still, he had had a long day. What wound up happening yesterday with regard to his gall bladder drain tube (which had fallen out) was that the hospital decided that he was asymptomatic and just left it out. What with transportation and waiting for same, this wound up taking nine or ten hours. So I guess he had a right to be a little tired and confused.
    Not that confused; he just couldn't find his call button. Anyway, he asked me to call the nurses's station and ask them for a cup of water and I did. They assured me that they would deliver, and also put his call button within reach. We were well pleased that his hospital trip turned out unexciting and are hoping that he continues to be asymptomatic and can do without the yucky gall bladder drain tube and bag. And that he got his drink of water.

Another minor disaster we can live with

    I got a call this morning from one of Dad's nurses that his drain had fallen out and so they were sending him back to Baptist Hospital to get it hooked up again. This is not the same as before; it didn't fail, but just fell out. There's no surgery involved this time. She thought that he would be back there this evening.
    Assuming all this turns out to be the case, I'm relaxed about it. Compared to the alternatives, I'm practically giddy about it. I'm sorry Margaret and I don't get to visit today. Hopefully, next time we'll remember the way. I think I forgot to mention that we park in a new place, that it's a bit of a hike to his room, and it's fairly easy to get confused, though hard to get too lost. The sight lines are good, I mean.
    It is a little nerve-wracking waiting to hear anything, and not knowing. Is the hospital going to keep him? Is he getting food? Will he be back in time for dialysis tomorrow? I'm optimistic and hope for the best, but I'd rather know than wonder.

If I don't walk, I forget to write

    That's it. That's the whole blog entry. Thanks for stopping in.
    No, but it's true. I habitually put off writing until I've taken my walk, in hopes that it might provide ideas, clear my mind or at least give me something to complain about. With this very cold weather, my desire to go out walking does not match that of my young cat Harry. (He has a much nicer fur coat, after all.) Today I went to both Walmart and Lowe's and to get a simple floor lamp, a light bulb and a filter for a replacement humidifier, I must have walked a couple of miles. I decided that that was enough walking for anybody. More to the point, I had to make supper, which took a while.
    William and I brought Dad a new lamp to make his room brighter, but we missed getting to visit by 10 or 20 minutes. As it's dialysis day, this wasn't a surprise. His missing phone had been found and he has a loaner TV now, so all is about as well as it can be.

Moved

    So they moved Dad to the long-term care area today. It went smoothly enough. The new room is more spacious than I was thinking, though smaller than the one he was in. It's also pretty dark; I'll have to go get him at least one floor lamp tomorrow. The social worker said they would loan him a TV until we could get him one, but word of that didn't filter down. Anyway, he says he can live without a TV.
    Weird thing was that he called both Margaret and me after he had been moved using his main cell phone, the one that he can use most easily. But although we could find the backup one easily enough, the main one was nowhere to be found. Calling it just got an immediate "Call ended," as if the battery were dead or the phone is switched off. We figured it was probably in the wheelchair with him, but we couldn't find it there. We alerted the staff at least, so they'll look for it when putting him to bed.
    We really like the staff in the new section, but of course we liked the staff in the old section. A good bunch all the way around, it seems. When we arrived, they had taken him down to the Activity Room where a bingo game was happening. He sat with them, but didn't play, but nor did he seem to mind. After bingo wound down, I asked about the TV in the room and they said we were free to watch, so we did until 5. I rolled him back to his room pulling the oxygen along no problem.
    The young man who brought Dad's supper didn't have any idea what to do with the tray table in relation to the wheelchair. I didn't either but had the advantage of knowing that he'd eaten from one while in the wheelchair before and figured it out pretty easily. I'm not sure how much he ate, but it seemed tasty. (Barbecue ribs sandwich, fries, ice cream.)
    Other funny thing: I figured we needed chairs and that although they would lend us a couple, these would likely be uncomfortable. So I stopped by the Habitat for Humanity ReStore. They had a dozen or more matching office chairs that were unusually comfortable. I got one for $7. Left the price tag on; hope it stays there!

Guilt by transference, football edition

    South Carolina has gotten another coach fired. We have made somewhat a tradition of it. It seems like every time we beat a favored home team, that school fires the coach. Truthfully, though, the only two I remember for sure are Philip Fulmer and now Will Muschamp.
    It was certainly an astonishing game. After three straight games where SC was leading in the fourth quarter by two touchdowns and then somehow managed to lose, this time they were playing staunchly and stoutly and still were headed to another loss. However, they blocked a field goal and then a punt, a man recovered his own fumble in the end zone for a tying touchdown and then they won it in overtime. Two days later, I'm still charged up about it.
    But all I wanted to say about firing of coaches was that sure we aren't Alabama, but we always put a lot of guys in the NFL. Sometimes our record isn't that great, but we've always had more than our share of bad breaks. Maybe these schools ought to wait a bit and think about it more and then fire their guy after he loses to somebody else. Come on! I feel guilty. (Granted not very. What a game!)

Juggling act

    This will be brief. For no reason that I know of (the kitties were even behaving!) I woke up at 4 in the morning, and then barely got back to sleep. I was functional as long as the sun was up (or illuminated cloudage anyway) but have been fading badly since getting back from Dadland. So here's a couple of very brief anecdotes before I go fall down.
    Aldi has a lot of gluten-free products these days. That isn't to say that they always will, but it's a little golden age. One is a mix for corn bread. I totally forgot that I usually don't eat GMO corn when I bought it, but what the hey. My idea was to buy this and a can of sliced peaches and see if it magically became peach cobbler.
    It sort of did. Anyway it wasn't terrible or even bad, but neither was it terrifically good. Needs vanilla pudding, I kept thinking. So when I tried to remove it from the fridge to cut off a piece and instead dropped most of it on the floor, it wasn't particularly tragic except for the doubts this engendered about my future as a professional peach cobbler juggler. And I was going to make a mint!
    Other anecdote even shorter. Especially without subjects and verbs. Dad was pretty sleepy again this afternoon and in fact woke up surprised that we were there even though we'd said big hellos when we got there. But when we were leaving, Margaret said that she would see him Wednesday and he corrected her! Hey, I know I'm grasping at straws. I remember saying similar things 3 1/2 years ago: it's always good to see that he's still in there! That's all.

That's no reason to take my blanket!

    Dad continues... not that great. His conversation was pretty limited today. At some point, I noticed that he didn't have his blanket so I asked him if he wanted it and he said he guessed so. Later, Margaret asked if he was warm and he said yes. So I asked if he was warm or cold and he said yes. So I took the blanket back, thinking he was warm. He said, "Why did he take my blanket?" And I said because he had said he was warm and he said, "That's no reason to take my blanket!" And of course he's right; I should have asked if he were uncomfortably warm. I certainly offered to give it back again but he declined. (It was very warm in the room, by the way.)
    It still appears that he's pretty on the ball in the morning but pretty feeble by the time we see him in the later afternoon. So it's hard to draw any definitive conclusions about how he's doing. I'm going to give the number of the facility doctor to my sister (also a doctor); maybe we can find out what she's thinking.
    Dream last night involved shows and shoes. I had free tickets to a big reunion show and was quite excited. I think the only name my brain could come up with was Duran Duran, but since I never cared for Duran Duran I think my brain just made it into big reunion show, unspecified. The venue was right across from my house, so I ran over. I'd forgotten to wear shoes, so at first I kept stretching my pants legs down over my feet. Then I realized I was carrying these clear plastic shoes, glass slippers more or less, so I put those on. But somehow I got relocated to a version of my parents' house with a version of my mother present. Then a bunch of people I know in real life but mainly interact with on Facebook lately came by to give me a ride to the show. But I decided to walk. This time the shoes I was carrying were weird hard plastic clogs, which I was reluctant to put on, but did. The things we'll do to see Duran Duran, or somebody like them!

Pop hates the Beatles

    Actually, Pop doesn't; this is the title of an Allan Sherman parody song from back in the day, maybe not before my time, but before my ability to remember anything. Dad liked the Beatles, or at least "Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da"; I don't know about anything else. No, but it has occurred to me over the years of driving Margaret about that it's interesting to hang around with someone old enough to have disapproved of the Beatles. The other day, "Sergeant Pepper's" and "With a Little Help From My Friends" came on the radio, so I asked her.
    She couldn't remember. When I mentioned that it was the '60s, she said that that was 33 years ago. "Would that it were true!" I said. When I noted that the song we were hearing was 47 years old but that Beatlemania was 50 years ago, it didn't help. I asked if her daughters, now in their 70s, liked them and she said she guessed so. Apparently, I'm hanging around with someone old enough to have been indifferent to the Beatles, which is also kind of impressive.

Hey, new dream architecture!

    I've blithered at length before about how so many of my dreams take place in one immense building, like an entire university in one building, also including a mall, parking garage, hotel, etc. Last night, the scene shifted. A series of discrete (or discreet, depending which one's funnier) buildings, all boxy, all made of clear glass. I don't remember what the first two were, but the third one was something like a library with many computer terminals. I was looking for one that was unoccupied and couldn't find one. When I woke up, I was shocked and pleased to have had a dream where I was looking for something and it wasn't a urinal. Sorry, I get so tired of that kind of dream.
    There was also some business where I was outside, walking along the sidewalk and some woman spoke very loudly. I said, "Shut up!" or something like it. It turned out that she was a jogger passing me, and I was very embarrassed. What I can't figure out is under what circumstances it wouldn't have been rude to say that. The real one, I guess: the voice almost certainly came from the old-time radio program I was playing at the time. I guess sleeping me realized it and then dreaming me provided a person for the voice to have come from, and then I was embarrassed for being rude in my sleep. Or some damn thing.
    I saw Dad's new room. It's smaller than his current one, and spend-his-entire-pension expensive. But he can afford it and certainly deserves it. And as I say, it might provide a kick in the butt for him to try harder to get home. Or at least stronger. Let's hope it does.

Medicare A

    The social worker at Lowman Home called to say that because Dad was no longer making progress in physical therapy, he would no longer be covered by Medicare A. Who cares?, I thought, we can afford to pay, but apparently the rehab area is only for Medicare A patients. Or anyway he has to move, and it can't be due to crush of business, because there are quite a few empty rooms just in his section.
    I'm puzzled because she says he hasn't made progress in weeks, whereas less than a week ago we had the care meeting and the physical therapists were praising him for his progress. Still, I suppose it's a matter of semantics. The overarching point is that he just hasn't got any stamina, and attempts to build it up don't appear to be working.
    So tomorrow we go to look at a private room, which I'm told is very nice, and talk about money, which I suspect isn't. As a piece of news, it's meaningless by itself; rather, the question is how does he take it? If he regards this as the facility giving up on him and he gives up on himself, it's bad news. If he regards it as a challenge and rededicates himself to recovery (like he did 3 years ago) then it's good news. Then "Any day without physical therapy is a wasted day" was his motto. We sure hope to hear it again.

My sweetheart's here

    OK, today's visit with Dad wasn't the greatest. He was in bed again and so again mostly sleepy. And the ringer on the Jitterbug phone had somehow been turned off and I could find no way to get it back on again. But he did get a thank you certificate from the facility for his service as a veteran, and that was nice. And he did provide another indelible moment.
    He seemed to be struggling so I asked if there was anything he needed. "No," he said. "My sweetheart's here. That's all I need." I'll pause while everybody says, "Awwwww!"
    Almost as impressive, I got home and the kitties had not destroyed the house. At all! After four hours! I think somebody switched them for lookalikes.

Not silent but still deadly

    I went out this afternoon and found Harry over another dead squirrel. I bought him a breakaway collar with jingle bells-- actually three of them now-- expressly to avoid this happening. The collar is still on him and is still jingly. Maybe he can move without moving his neck somehow, but I doubt it.
    I'm really bummed out about it. I feel the same when I run over a squirrel. I feel responsible for the unnecessary and pointless death of another creature. And I'm not much comforted by circle of life reassurances. When a creature we brought here from Africa kills a creature we brought here from England for no reason but because he can, it says a lot about us, but not a lot about the circle of life.
    Of course it's possible that the squirrel just dropped dead. It still seems unlikely that any animal not a baby or a cripple could be caught by a jingly cat. In rigor mortis, the squirrel appeared to be in mid-step; I would think a squirrel killed by a cat would go limp. Regardless, I'll redouble efforts to indooricize this kitty, and try to come up with more fun things for him to do indoors or outdoors than killing squirrels. Or just feed him so much that he's too slow to catch them.

What a difference WiFi makes

    I did in fact take the laptop to today's visit with Dad, hooked it to Lowman Home's WiFi, and seconds later had the They Might Be Giants live first album downloaded. Then Steve Wynn (not the Vegas douchebag but the Dream Syndicate singer) posted a link to a free download of the Dream Syndicate's reunion show in Atlanta a couple of months ago that I had wanted so badly to go to. That one took a little longer, like 15 minutes, but considerably better than an hour and a half only to fail, like last night.
    We had a frustrating visit. Apparently, he's alert and perky all morning and all early afternoon, but by the time we get there, his stamina is gone and it's like visiting a two-year-old. He napped most of the time we were there, fiddled with the bed's elevation endlessly when he was awake, and then complained about the food when it arrived. So not big fun. However, he was calling Margaret all morning and she says he sounded good, speaking clearly and intelligently. I wish he could just nap in the morning and stay up for us, but I guess when you're sleepy you're sleepy and when you're not you're not. Ah well.

Still the king of poor timing

    They Might Be Giants, for the last year or more, have been performing their first album as a live show. Now they're offering the live version of this album as a free download. I received this news just as I was about to use up my monthly data allowance. I thought I might get in under the wire. I thought wrong.
    Shortly after I started my seven-minute download, I got the push notification on the phone that I had used up my 3 gigs, and my 7 minutes suddenly became a half hour. Then an hour. Then an hour and a half. Then the laptop went to sleep (You've heard that about me, haven't you?) and the phone no longer had anything connected to its hot spot. So I changed the laptops setting so it would never go to sleep when plugged in and there was still an hour on the download. A half hour later, I checked whether Harry wanted to come back in (he did) and also checked the download. It had failed.
    Why not just use the phone? A) because I needed an email address and I don't know how to get email on the phone and B) because They Might Be Giants said not to, and I'm very obedient. I get fast internet again in a week so I should be able to get the download then no problem. Or I can take the laptop to Lowman Home and borrow their WiFi tomorrow. I probably wouldn't have mentioned it at all except that it took so freaking long that it's now too late for me to think clearly enough to write anything clever. Oh and in hopes that everybody will go get TMBG's first album live downloaded for free. Just don't do it when your data allowance has run out. Believe me!

High tea

    Or I May Never Eat Again. Since my lunches started being nearly always vegan, I've been making it a habit to have something around 3 or 4 so I don't feel too hungry. Nothing gigantic as a rule; usually chips and hummus. Today, however, I had another factor: a recipe. A recipe that called for ripe bananas. And the bananas, finally, were ripe.
    So off I went! The recipe was for peanut butter chocolate chip mini-muffins, gluten free of course. My friend Michelle found it and shared it on Facebook. And heck, I had all the ingredients except for the ripe bananas! (And the vanilla, as it turns out, but I'll save that sad story for another day. I will gladly post the recipe if anyone is interested, but mine didn't turn out so great. The chocolate chips, even though I didn't have the full cup's worth either, overwhelmed everything else. This makes them hard to stop eating, but I could have just eaten the chocolate chips and saved a lot of time and cleanup. I can taste the banana and there's a hint of peanut butter, but so far they're a bit of a disappointment. Maybe with half the chocolate chips, or all of the vanilla, or even riper bananas. Ah well; I got over the muffin idea quickly and made a loaf with most of it, so at least it was a quicker disappointment than it might have been.
    But my go-to tea-time treat since Aldi came out with their excellent gluten-free bread is egg-salad sandwiches. It's like 2006 again! Michelle had a brilliant suggestion when I mentioned getting McCormick's garam masala, which was that it's yummy in chicken salad. Well it's yummy in egg salad, too! The quest to curry everything continues! But first, I have  to eat some more of these terrible muffins. Supper is unlikely to happen.

That one that isn't cognitive dissonance

    So Dad had his second care meeting today. And it was quite reassuring. He's doing quite a lot better rather quickly at his physical and occupational therapy. Meanwhile, as I mentioned the other day, he's calling Margaret rather frequently, particularly in the morning. All of this presents quite a different picture from what I get from visiting with him four times a week. We visit in the later afternoon, by which time he's pretty much tuckered out and mostly inclined to sleep. So it's really cool to see or at least hear about another side. I don't know what this is called except that it isn't cognitive dissonance. Perspective on the limitations of one's perceptions is not mellifluous, but more or less covers it.
    Since I was out there already for the care meeting and brother Malcolm is in town and available, I asked him to take Margaret out for her afternoon visit. I was able to run some errands and most importantly catch up on paying Dad's bills. Funny how easy it is to put stuff off another day because you've already missed the last pickup of the day. Maybe that's-- naw, that isn't cognitive dissonance either. Just plain laziness and procrastination.

Feets finally doing their stuff

    I mentioned at the time getting Superfeet insoles ($50) instead of new hiking boots (c. $150). I have been unclear ever since as to how brilliant an idea this was or wasn't. They seem like really good insoles, but I spend nearly every night with odd pins and needles sensations in my lower legs, especially the left one. I am a boy who has had entirely too many odd pins and needles sensations already due to decades of B12 shortages, so I haven't really enjoyed their resumption.
    However, it seems like it's more a hit-a-nerve kind of thing rather than a throwback to gluten-eating days. We find again that Johnny does not in fact know how to tie his shoes. ("Again?!" Again.) When I keep them slightly looser, whatever nerve was being hit is hit no longer, so I'm finally starting to feel normal(ly?) again in the pedal areas. Should still probably get new boots, though.
    By the way, there was an election yesterday. I'm still open to brilliant suggestions for emigration destinations. Slightly more so since yesterday. AmeriKocha is no place for me.

That famous river in Africa

    Look, I know I'm in denial; I've got no problem with it. Dad is probably not dying, but things are not likely to be the same again. However, I've been carrying around his shopping bag with a blanket and pillow that we took with him to dialysis three times a week for three and a half years. Well, not carrying, but it rides in the car with me. Now Margaret wants to do Dad's laundry all the time. Something about making sure there's fabric softener in there. Today, she didn't bring a bag and couldn't find one. So I went out to the car and found the shopping bag no problem. Quickly, it was an empty shopping bag. I may be in denial, but I'm not crazy. Much.
    Brother Malcolm is down to visit and we had a fun visit within a visit walking the grounds out there. We are endeavoring to get him weather that is at least as warm as Boston's. It's been kookoo lately, though.
    Also kookoo was the banana the Home served Dad with supper. I am an admirer of green bananas, but even I wouldn't have tried to eat this one. Not that it was all green, but it definitely is too green. No sweat for Dad; he didn't want it anyway. I brought it home to ripen. And generally he is pleased with the food service out there. And that's all that counts.

I want out! Oh.

    Amelia the cat has spent about 9 years indoors and more or less happy. Last night and again this morning, she decided finally that she was jealous of Harry's right to go out whenever he demanded, so she went out, too. On the night of the first freeze of the year. Not surprisingly, Miss Norwegian Forest Cat decided with great alacrity that indoors isn't so bad. Twice. I don't know if this will be repeated; given our climate, it's almost certainly going to be warmer again, so she can go out if she wants. I'll just get another jingle bell breakaway collar.
    Harry, on the other hand, spent ages outside, particularly this morning when it was definitely below freezing. He's the shorthair, so he ought to have more trouble with the cold than Amelia. On the other hand, he has a very high metabolism, or where does all this food go? I prefer that idea strongly over kitty bulimia. (Also, he sleeps on my legs and gives off a lot of heat.) I still think when it gets colder he'll adapt to being an all-indoor kitty. I still wish I knew for sure that he knows how to use the litter box. All will be revealed in time, I suppose.

Oh, a mixed bag

    Yesterday, Margaret called before going out to visit Dad and said that she'd been talking to him on the phone and that he was back to himself, talking clearly and making sense and also apparently up and ordering people around. So hopefully she and William found this to be the case during their visit. Unfortunately, it wasn't so much on our visit today. He was wrapped up in bed and very cold and was very hard to hear. Mostly back in sleepy guy mode.
    I had bought the iPad because my sister Anne had wanted to video call via FaceTime some Sunday. We did and it was pretty neat. But midway, I noticed that Dad didn't have his oxygen in his nose. The machine was still on, so presumably nobody had discontinued it. A member of staff was in the room to bring him ice so I asked her about it. She hooked him up; I wish I could say that he perked up immediately, but he didn't. Still, if he needed oxygen and wasn't getting it, that would explain why he was cold and his energy was low. We also video called via Google Hangouts on my phone, which was also fun. It was a big day for technology.
    Brother Malcolm is heading down roughly tomorrow. It will be good to see him. Hopefully, he'll be able to see some improvement during his visit. Knock on wood.

Snow? Seriously?

    Yeah yeah, where you live it probably isn't weird to have snow on November 1st. Here it's a record for earliest ever. The accumulations happened maybe 20 miles west of here, so "here" is here construed loosely. But the official weather station is at the metro airport and they got snow, so I think it counts.
    Here where I am no snow was to be seen except for a second on the windshield. Where they got it though, it even accumulated, up to 3 inches. Kind of weird to have that much so near and none here. Might be a heat island effect; might be that government weather control apparatus Art Bell used to talk about all the time.
    Anyway, it's nice it happened on a Saturday and doesn't seem to be affecting roads at all. There's a football game this evening which is likely to be pretty sloppy, but I like to think everybody will be safe. Because of football, I can't take Margaret to see Dad (or at least I can't and then ever get home) but William's car is newer and he's a good driver. I have high confidence that they will have a good visit. Only drawback: kids don't get a snow day! And I already have my gluten-free bread and almond milk, so I can't join the panic buying. Pretty minor drawbacks, I'm thinking.