DNR

    A nurse at Lowman was talking with Dad about his situation. We had it set up for them to use heroic measures to save him if he seems to be dying. She feels that in his case, this is a bad idea, that heroic measures would mean broken bones and if it somehow saved him, he would be in much worse shape than he is in now with little ability to recover. So essentially she talked him into a DNR (do not resuscitate) order. This was before he went back to the hospital. In fact, the night before he went back to the hospital, at nearly 11, she called me to tell me about it, which seems ultra-creepy but is almost certainly mere coincidence.
    Yesterday, she brought it up again with Margaret present. Dad said that he didn't want CPR, it would hurt and it wouldn't do any good. This seemed more than a little coached, but there you are, he said it. Margaret was upset, but said she would abide by Dad's wishes. I pointed out that although he has had congestive heart failure, nobody can say for sure that he's had a heart attack. The probability is that CPR wouldn't be called for anyway. I just wanted to make sure that nobody gave up on him in the event of some other problem. She said that they wouldn't. I signed, Dad signed, and he wanted Margaret to sign, too, which she did bravely.
    Then it turned out that there was another form that also needed to be signed. That one was for the attending physician. It said that the doctor had explained to Dad the options. He didn't want to sign it because "that would be a lie." (She hadn't explained the options; the nurse had instead.) The nurse was puzzled until I clarified what Dad was objecting to and I said he wouldn't sign it until the doctor came and talked to him. Then he relented and said he would sign it. But hell, I was just thrilled that the old fellow was still the sharpest person in the room.

Good for morale

    Dad had an appointment at the heart clinic to have his pacemaker checked today. Lowman Home sent him via wheelchair and van, which made me a little nervous since he travels by ambulance and stretcher otherwise. But it went well. They needed me along to sign things, and I was glad to help.
    Midway through, in one of the waiting areas, a well-regarded local reporter from yesteryear named Clark Surratt introduced himself, though not by name. He was with the State newspaper (our daily) back when both the state and the newspaper were seeing better days; he was a kick-ass political reporter. He recognized Dad (or saw his name on the sign-in sheet, or both). He said he remembered Dad as a great interview, with excellent command of his facts, unlike the politicians he had to interview. And that Dad had a terrific reputation. It was good for morale.
    The appointment ran over two hours since he had to have his pacemaker checked, do labs, get an echocardiogram and see the doctor. Eventually his oxygen started to run low. So the woman from Lowman borrowed an oxygen cannister until she could get Dad back to the van. When we were done, I ran their cannister back up to the third floor, my first time running up two flights of stairs with an oxygen cannister.
    Doctor said his heart is weak, but not weaker. His labs were great except for the kidneys. So in other words, he might not be looking his best, but he's doing pretty well. So yay!

Me and furniture

    I wonder why my brain doesn't work around questions of furniture. It occurs to me lately that I could live in this small apartment better with simple stuff like shelves and side tables. I honestly don't think it's because I'm cheap; I think there's some part of the brain involving spatial relationships that's missing. Or I guess it's mostly inactive. I have bought and used shelves in the past. So it can be done. I just mostly don't. Of course, having cats might have something to do with this. One does get used to the idea that stuff that can be jumped or climbed on is best avoided. But maybe the cats or I are evolving.
    Forgive goofiness. I had curry for lunch and am extra double sleepy. If this wasn't in English, all apologies.

Escape (NOT the pina colada song)

    Knowing me, I've probably used that one before. Regardless, I'm thrilled to say that Dad is out of the hospital. I wish I could say that he's well, but at least he's better, with a high probability of continuing to get better. We had a nice visit and were just giddy about him being out of the hospital. He was fairly confused, though, including thinking that it was the middle of the night. But hey, it was another long day.
    We weren't expecting an exciting ride home, but there was a vehicle fire on our (i.e. the non-rush-hour) side of the interstate. Not one of those flames-coming-from-under-the-hood type fires. The entire car was engulfed; it was really dramatic. I'm happy to say that rubbernecking was at a minimum and we got by it in good time. And Margaret saw some civilians, so apparently the people in the car got out ok. So one hopes anyway!

Inertia, or momentum

    Did not want to get up this morning. Once up, just wanted to go back to bed. Once out of bed again, didn't want to do anything still. Finally decided to go to Congaree Creek Heritage Preserve for old time's sake and do the quick 15 minutes in, 15 minutes out stroll just to say I'd done something. And of course once on the train, I went like a freight train and couldn't stop. I forgot my iPod though and so alternated between beeps and boops on one create your own music phone app and Indian raga drone on another. Yes I know I should be enjoying the silence of nature, but where I was I was more likely to get the noise of 12th St. Extension or the interstate. So beeps and boops were an improvement.
    When I reached Congaree Creek, something very large jumped into it. Or anyway something that made a big splash. Should have been an otter but I didn't see its head swimming away. Could have been a gator. Definitely not a fan of beeps and boops. The wary and silent hunter I will never be, I'm afraid.

Zzzzzzz

    Well we had a very dull visit with Dad today, but we didn't mind. He pretty nearly slept the entire time, but we enjoyed the fact that he was breathing easily, barely coughing at all, and not bedeviled by copious phlegm when he did. So yay for Mucinex!
    He told the nurse that he was looking forward to seeing us and told it to Margaret on the phone, too. We were wondering if he was drugged. But honestly, I think he just was exhausted from weeks of bronchitis and coughing and was finally catching up on his rest now that he was able. So it sucked for us that we didn't get a fun visit and even more for him. But we were very, very relieved that he's doing better and we'll look forward to seeing him again either in the hospital or hopefully at Lowman Home.

Maybe a little progress

    Margaret was very worried talking to Dad on the phone last night; he seemed to be out of his head. But there's no question that dialysis takes a lot out of him in the best of circumstances, and that being in the hospital is not the best of circumstances. So presumably he was out of sorts because of having had dialysis earlier in the day.
    Our visit today wasn't great, but was somewhat reassuring. He's still confused and clumsy, but he was rational and reasonably cheerful. He's still frustrated that he has trouble calling Margaret on the phone, but he practiced with us present and was doing a little better. He seemed to be skipping numbers, understandable with macular degeneration.
    Again we were there when his supper arrived, and Margaret again fed him all he wanted to eat. And we did get him to sing to her a little bit. We didn't like that he had to ask repeatedly what day it is, but then we considered that half the time we don't know what day it is either. We just have a lot more places to look it up. So not too alarming.
    In another realm, I left the cats together with not too much food, and they didn't destroy the house a bit. I was so proud.

Angrying the blood

    My friend Terry, also known as one-fourth of the readership of this blog, likes to quote Satchel Paige on fried foods. Satch said to avoid them, because they "angry the blood." I think I know exactly what he was talking about. Folks back then, especially Southern blacks, tended to fry in pork fat, usually from fat back. I just did something like that.
    The other week, when the Fair was still going on, I was having difficulty getting to my usual Publix store. So I started improvising. I found to my surprise that Aldi sells uncured bacon with no preservatives. I was looking for some kind of meat for my pasta e fageoli (or in pop culture speak, pasta fazoo). The first attempt didn't turn out too great because I had forgotten over the years how to make bacon, and Aldi's directions weren't too useful.
    So yesterday, I tried again. Also in the interim, Aldi brought back their brown rice spaghetti noodles. The result was much better. However, I'm finding it to be quite angrying to the blood. And so I don't think it's the frying; I think it's the sodium. Sodium in bacon; sodium in fatback. It's nice that the uncured bacon doesn't have any nitrites, but dang; still too salty for me. Also I got a lot more indigestion than I did in the olive oil version of the dish. (Yeah, yeah yeah; bacon AND bacon grease. Probably gilding the lily.)
    So bacon sketti probably won't be tried again unless I half the bacon and throw out the bacon grease and use olive oil instead. It's tasty, though, and fun. Ahhhh what the hey! I need some angry blood anyway.

Progress, officially

    Dad is headed out of the ICUniverse, back to the 8th floor on his way back to Lowman Home. The leaving the IICU part happens later this evening; I think they're just trying to feed him first. Lowman Home might take a little while, or now. I don't think most places take admissions, even readmissions, on weekends. Also he's still sick. The Mucinex is not so making a lot of headway, although I guess there's some. As to brain activity, he still says he can't get the phone to work and can't understand why it works for everybody else. I imagine he just has a block. He's hoping there's a better phone in the new room.
    I absolutely can't get straight that it's still Thursday, but if you were puzzled by my reference to the weekend above, that isn't why I said that. He has dialysis again tomorrow, which will suck up most of the day, so Friday's forfeit. For us, it's pretty much already the weekend.
    I like the 8th floor; I like the stairs. I like running up... oh, about half of them. Although whether I run or walk, I always run out of steam at the same place, the 6th floor. Spirit willing; knees weak.

The usual roller-coaster ride

    Yesterday, Dad didn't seem well at all. The congestion had gotten even worse, but more to the point, his brain didn't seem to be there hardly at all. We were more than a little worried. However, before we left, his supper was delivered, and Margaret was happy to feed as much as he wanted of it to him.
    Today, he went to dialysis a third day in a row. I'm pretty sure that two of these weren't full sessions; Monday they must have brought him late, so yesterday they took him back to finish it. And no doubt that contributed to strain and nervousness. I had the strong sense that he was more or less asleep with his eyes open.
    We didn't visit today because of full dialysis and because Margaret is again having leg problems. But she talked to Dad and to the nurses; apparently he was eating everything put in front of him. He said that he hadn't eaten in three days, which either demonstrates that he's still out of it or that he was so out of it yesterday that he can't remember it. I prefer the latter interpretation.
    I recall that in the past, anesthesia knocked Dad for a loop for days. One assumes that getting a drain installed, even replacing an earlier one, might require anesthesia. So hopefully that's it and we're passed it. They also started giving him Mucinex for the congestion so hopefully lessening that is helping, too. We'll look forward to seeing him tomorrow and hope for the best.

PB&J

    Since Aldi started selling REALLY good gluten-free bread, a lot of stuff has come back into my life, from French onion soup (of sorts) to egg-salad sandwiches. But the humble PB&J is no longer particularly humble. Organic peanut butter costs $7. Raspberry preserves are $3 or $4; I can't remember. The bread is $4 for a little loaf. And it winds up tasting like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
    What this tells us is that the manufacturers do a good job making fake crap. The cheap peanut butter with all the preservatives and ingredients having nothing to do with peanuts really does taste like real peanut butter. All those ingredients presumably make it possible to make it cheap and sell it for a long time. (That's what preservatives do after all.) And the same is true of the jelly and the bread.
    But I think companies underestimate us, and always have. I think people want companies to figure out how to mass-produce food without all the preservatives. If the costs came down, everybody would eat healthier food. It stands to reason that if the crappy food is cheaper, most people will save money and buy crappy food. I myself know that I should eat organic, but I just can't see paying the surcharge required to do so. I don't know, but I think the glut of preservatives are what is producing all the autistic kids today. My own autistic tendencies have at least tempered a bit since I started laying off preservatives. Try us, won't you companies? We might surprise you.

Can't Touch This

    Boy am I glad I made yesterday's posting short! Even though it was an hour-plus into MC Hammer's State Fair closing show, (and keeping in mind that he doesn't have (cough) much material), I nevertheless got to hear "You Can't Touch This" very clearly on the walk over to the fairgrounds for one last set of photos, that time with the real camera. I was a lot happier to hear this than I would have expected. Not that I ever had any kick against Hammer; I just liked "Superfreak" so well that I've always been disappointed to hear the imitation instead. But last night it made for grins. I wish I could have gone to the show; I would have liked to hear "Addams Family" and "Pray," too. Ah well, it was for a good cause.
    I should have paid and gone in anyway, because you really can't get any useful pictures from across a busy road on the wrong side of a fence. But they were OK. It was mainly just an excuse to take my daily walk, which I had missed, anyway.
    Much as I love the Fair, I am ridiculously pleased that it is gone. To be able to go to the store, and if I forget something, I can just go back-- what luxury! The football team is on the road this weekend. They play Auburn, which is unlikely to be fun, but at least there's the silver lining that I'll be able to get around for almost two weeks straight. Quite a change! I've got to move out of this neighborhood one day.
    What I was planning to write about was my weird feet. I seem to have reached a resolution in the old boots/ new insoles struggle. But I guess I'll wait on some kind of definitive results to share such exciting news. Stay on the edge of that chair!

Much relieved

    Yesterday's reassuring posting proved to be accurate. Granted, Dad is still coughing frequently, but he was so much better today than before. And he ate his supper like a hungry man. And he was friendly to staff and not the least bit irascible. But oddly, what I was most relieved about might be construed as a negative: he's eager to go back to Lowman Home. I guess I was worried that he wouldn't like it, but apparently he does. We had a very nice visit.
    Also I'm relieved that the Fair is over. As much as I love it, it's a major pain in the butt. That said, I'm signing off now to try to get one last set of photos. I guess I'm too late to hear Hammer. Darn it!

And better yet

    Or so I hope. I got the call last night that Dad was already in the stepdown ICU (which is such a less alarming name than the double ICU, which they also call it). He was having trouble remembering Margaret's number, so they called me to get it and I was glad to help. He had the king-hell day of all days yesterday, having surgery in the morning, dialysis all afternoon, and then being moved to a new room in the evening. I haven't talked to him but my sister did and said he seemed more than a little frazzled. I would say that that's pretty reasonable.
    I'm trapped in Olympia by football and fair traffic. I know fair traffic will be minimal in the morning, so I'll check in on him then. But I probably won't be much help taking Margaret to see him before Monday. With any kind of luck, he'll be back to Lowman Home by then, or maybe Tuesday. Oddly, they haven't been in touch at all about Dad's room, his stuff or anything. They had some rooms free, so maybe there's no pressure. Well, we'll see.
    In another realm, the outside kitty worked himself free from another jinglebell breakaway collar and wasn't falling for having a new one put on him. So I waited until he was sleepy and snuck up behind him. Getting the "dirty cheater" stink-eye, too!

Situation normal-- pretty good

    You thought I was going to say something else, didn't you? Short version is that Dad got his new drain in no problem, was eating breakfast and doing well when I called to check in, and also has dialysis scheduled for this afternoon. So he's going to have a pretty dang full day. Couple of odd things for the longer version: they called to ask permission to do the drain procedure, then called back to say that since it was continuation of care from the earlier one, they didn't need permission. Then when I called to check in about noon, they wanted me to talk to the dialysis nurse to give permission for that. Now he's been on dialysis for three or four years now. Talk about continuation of care! Maybe it was because he had also had the drain procedure today. Anyway, I certainly gave permission; if it lets him see the football game tomorrow (or if not Carolina's game, the other ones), I'm sure he's all for it. And dialysis certainly beats the alternative.
    The rubber is hitting the road, literally, for the State Fair, and I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to leave the neighborhood by car all weekend. Also the football team is having homecoming tomorrow. At noon. I don't know whose brilliant idea this was. I expect to have people trying to park in my living room. So I'm not going to be able to visit Dad as much as I would wish. The Fair runs through Sunday (with MC Hammer, baby!) so traffic is not likely to abate. But we will find a way! Hell, it's walking distance to the hospital for me!

Don't be alarmed, but Dad is back in the hospital

    Dad's gall bladder drain quit draining, so he's back in the hospital. The probability of course is that he will have a new one installed, but things are quite up in the air. I spent the morning with him in the ER and Margaret and I spent the afternoon with him in the ER and ICU. (I guess that deserves a "Don't be alarmed," too. ICU because he's nearly 94, I expect, rather than because he's in any dire shape.) It's sad that they don't have phones in ICU so he can't stay in as close touch as he likes. But maybe he'll get some rest.
    The nurse didn't know for sure what was going on or when. They were waiting for the surgeon to come around and no one knew when that would be either. We were able to get Dad some food. He ate very little, but at least he ate, and he drank his milk. Both better than nothing.
    His dialysis has been going better and worse. Better because he's feet are no longer swollen gigantic; worse because they've beat hell out of his arms trying to find his access. But the point is that if they need to do the procedure tomorrow and then do dialysis Saturday, it shouldn't be any problem. Well, except for the USC football game. A man has to have priorities.

Adwentures

    So I was expecting to have trouble with the weather yesterday. I didn't expect to have trouble with the vice president. Joe Biden was speaking at Allen University yesterday. I didn't know about it at the time but checked news reports after the fact. They said he would be speaking in the late morning; we got on the road after 2:30. There must have been a lengthy reception afterwards. His route to the airport crossed our route to the nursing home just about every way possible. If I had known about it, I could have taken the beltway, but that's about the sum of my choices. I doubled back two or three times and eventually got around, but only because the motorcade had passed by then.
    The result was that we took longer to get to the interstate than we spent on the interstate, which is fairly unusual. And we got shoved into the teeth of the storm, which otherwise we would have avoided. (I still like Joe, though.) I saw that the rain was coming and traffic would slow to a crawl so I got off the freeway one exit early and took my flooding on mostly two-lane roads. Margaret said that we must really love him to go through all that to see him. It was fairly exhilarating, though, and never all that dangerous. The ride home was anticlimactic, as the rain subsided until midnight or so. I successfully kept both kitties indoors for both storms and what's more, they behaved. I'll send it in as evidence of a miracle when Biden is up for canonization.

Tornadoish

    Usually I apologize for the blog entry being about nothing. Today I HOPE it's about nothing. We're under a tornado watch. Pretty much both Carolinas and Georgia. We're even trending on Facebook! Usually, these things peter out into nothing, or at least nothing locally. Hoping most sincerely for more of the same. Especially as this is a day for visiting Dad and 20 miles or so on the Internet isn't that fun even without a tornado. At the moment, it's intermittently cloudy. I can go for it staying this way all day.
    Dreams are still in the frustrating nightmare zone. I had a job interview TODAY but was stuck in a car with family riding around doing their errands. And then it turned out it was tomorrow. So a semi-nightmare. I could go for a night's sleep without any of these. Maybe the tornado will blow them away.

Feet super

    Sorry for the incredibly minor update, but taking out the original insoles on my hiking boots appears to have worked and the ridiculously expensive Superfeet insoles appear to be effective after all. I mean in the good way. I guess trying them out with a 6-mile round-trip walk on concrete and asphalt wasn't the shrewdest idea ever. But pain is gradually going away, and was quite minor to begin with, and my back is starting to feel better, too. On the same principle of spending a lot to avoid spending a lot more, I'll probably get a new car stereo, speaker and antenna to make the old car a lot newer again. Soon.
    Peter Case put on an outstanding show last night. He did many songs and told many stories, all totally delightful. One of the stories was about all the times he had had his equipment stolen. After the show, I found myself alone on stage with his guitars. I only thought about it for an instant. Or two.
    I noticed an odd recurring theme about my dreams last night. Most people dream about the class in college they forgot they registered for and now have to catch up on an entire semester in a day. I used to have that dream all the time. Now, though rather than anxiety, my college-type dreams revolve around minor annoyances. Always, or practically always, I'm in some kind of dorm situation and I've forgotten my mailbox combination (we didn't really have those, did we?) and can't get my mail. Oh, and I'm always leaving furniture in places I've moved out. I think last night I had three sets of furniture left behind and mail I couldn't pick up. Odd.

Interesting results

    To start with, the Southern Culture on the Skids show was awesome. Unfortunately, I was late and they were on time (who ever heard of punctuality in rock-n-roll?) but I made it in time for "The Real Nitty Gritty," which is all that counts. They did a festival set, meaning 45 minutes, and I knew every song but the last one. They brought people from the crowd to throw fried chicken at the audience during "Eight-Piece Box." By then, I was far enough away (since they were REALLY loud) that I don't know if it was real fried chicken. Anything's possible!
    Anyway, the results of the expensive insole experiment were odd. My feet don't feel broken anymore, but the ball of my left foot feels bruised and both shins just below the knee feel somewhat like what I imagine shin splints might be like. It's a very mild pain, though, so there's that. The young man who sold me the insoles suggested I take out the built in Keen insoles. I didn't. Now I have. Maybe they'll work better now. I hope so.
    Dad isn't doing too great, but he's still in there slugging. He's coughing a lot and choking sometimes, but in between he was still trying to sing to Margaret. "My Blue Heaven," one of his favorites.

Sucker born every minute

    So today is the day of the Jam Room Music Festival downtown and also probably the peak day for the State Fair since a) it's Saturday and b) it's warm and beautiful outside. Since I live next to the fairgrounds, driving out of here doesn't seem advisable. (Granted, it's the drive back that's more usually the problem, but still. Something about being in a traffic jam just to get home seems outright unfair.)
    So I decided to walk. It's just 3 miles one way; no problem, right? Unfortunately, my feet are starting to get that broky-feet feeling that indicates that I need to get new Dr. Scholl's. But it's only a month since I got new ones. So I went to Mast General Store, where I bought these Keen boots (I swear I'm not getting paid for product placement). A few months ago, when these boots started to show wear, I had checked in and they had exact duplicates. But now, no. Remarkably, they had been recalled. The guy told me that they could get a pair in from another city by Tuesday, but had no boots today (or rather, yesterday). To his credit, though, he wasn't burning to sell me new boots. He said these looked good and if I bought the insoles Mast sells, I could probably eke out another year.
    I'll share that brand name because it's delightful: Superfeet! (No exclamation mark, unfortunately.) They're $40-$50. Doc Scholl's is an already too expensive $11-14. Yesterday, I said no. Today, I went back, tried them out and bought a pair. The guy yesterday said I could bring them back for a refund if they don't work out. I ought to know by Tuesday when the replacement boots come in, so I can make the call then. Since Dr. Scholl's only last a couple of months, or this time a month, the $50 is pretty reasonable if Superfeet really last a year. And it's certainly cheaper than new boots. My broky feet already feel markedly better. We'll see how I feel after 3 miles, Southern Culture on the Skids, and another 3 miles. Maybe I'll do some Ditch Diggin' along the way, too!

The pacemaker monitor doohickey is in the mail

    Apparently, "the pacemaker monitor doohickey is in the mail" goes up with similar statements about "the check" in Great Semi-truths of the World. Anyway, the guy from St. Jude said I would have it this week and now it's Friday afternoon and I still don't have it. I guess I should have known better than to trust a guy with a company named after hopeless causes. Anyway, nobody at the heart clinic seems to be chuffed about it, so if they're not, Lowman Home probably isn't and if they're not, I'm not. Right? (To review, this is a device that gets plugged into the USB drive of the pacemaker monitor which makes it unnecessary to have a phone line, which Dad doesn't.)
    Meanwhile, the Fair is still in town, but getting around hasn't been much of a problem so far. I'm not planning to drive tomorrow unless in the morning, however. There's a music festival downtown featuring Southern Culture on the Skids. A long walk, but I'm planning to make it. They're worth it!

Without my magic camera

    My previous cell phone, the Windows Phone, took phenomenal pictures. Or anyway, they looked like phenomenal pictures on the phone. As I have mentioned before, it turned out that what the phone had was a really sensational display. The pictures must have been pretty good to start with or they couldn't have been made to look good. But the fact remains that they never looked as good anywhere else.
    This camera (phone) does not have magic powers. It does have one thing over the previous one: it takes 360 degree (possibly more) panorama shots. However, it's just as frustrating as the previous one was in bright sunlight, since you can't see what you're doing. Yesterday was the opening of the State Fair, and today I took advantage of free lunchtime admission to try to get some shots.. Since I had been very lucky with the magic phone last year getting what (I thought were) excellent pictures, all I wanted this year was at least one magnificent panorama. As it turns out, fairs don't adapt well to panoramas. All the carnie stands between the rides prevent good shots of multiple rides. I could have gotten a panorama of carnie stands, but somehow this didn't appeal. I did eventually get one sort of OK shot. And I can go back every weekday at lunch time for free and try again. But I think I liked it better when my phone lied to me and told me I was a better photographer than I really am. Take note, Samsung!

Oblong

    When Harry was an outside cat, I gave him water in a big plastic bowl. I know this is a no-no, but I didn't figure on him being out there as long as he turned out to be. He seemed to cope OK though. How he did was that he tipped the bowl on the side. Heck, I didn't even know the bowl had a side. At first I thought he was being petulant, but he did it consistently, so he must have been bringing the water down to a more easily reached level.
    When I brought him inside, I tried to find something that would approximate the surface he had created by tipping the plastic bowl. I found an oblong ceramic bowl and put water in it, also putting out water in regular cereal bowls in other parts of the house. The kitties drank it dry. Almost every day. I love my kitties but it made me slightly crazy that this cheap Chinese ceramic bowl had somehow been marked up to $7. But you know, the kitties know best. So I went out looking for two more and wouldn't you know? I couldn't find them. Today, however, I went to PetSmart and there they were, a little cutesy-poo, maybe, but unquestionably oblong and ceramic. Let's see 'em drink three bowls dry!

Staff of life

    Very little in life can be counted on. Death. Taxes. Gluten-free bread tastes like ass. And now we're back down to two eternal verities, and the savior is, of all companies, Aldi. Aldi's new gluten-free bread is rocking our little world, and it's odd how apt that cliche is. When you give up on bread, you give up on a lot of the things that you ate before. When you get it back, you get a lot of stuff back. Garlic bread and patty melts, my friend thought of. French toast and egg-salad sandwiches are more my speed. And PBJs, for gosh sake! I'm plotting and planning my first foray into French onion soup. (Oh, and Trader Joe's has a fake cheese that I kind of like. Suddenly an embarrassment of riches!)
    I've warned all and sundry that Aldi will break your heart. Whatever they sell that you love the most will get discontinued sooner or later, with no more warning than seeing it in the clearance area for a couple of weeks. You can usually track down where Aldi is getting a product by googling the ingredient list, and that worked this time. Aldi's gluten-free bread is also sold by Western Family of British Columbia, Canada. No way to mail order as far as I can tell. I'll just have to move to Vancouver. Darn the luck!

Facebook fun

    For years I've been Facebook friends with several of my favorite singers. Mostly, I attained this status because I asked when they were first getting on Facebook; I don't think it would work for anybody these days. One of those is Peter Case, formerly of the Plimsouls, and long a fave. He's coming to town next Sunday so I promoted him a bit on Drinking Liberally Columbia's Facebook page, and tagged him. And he replied! I think he was wondering whether mentioning that he's a left-winger would be a help in SC, but I assured him that in Columbia and at the venue he's playing it would be a badge of honor. I thought about mentioning, but didn't, that in the rest of SC we'd have to come up with a Confederate general he looked like or wrap him in a Gadsden (Don't Tread On Me!) flag. Anyway, fun with zero degrees of separation!
    I went out walking on Old State Road and kept going. An hour out and an hour back. This is the part of autumn that I like: the temperate part. It was great. I barely even got thirsty. Kicked a few yayas out, I hope.

Oh no! Second middle-age-hood!

    We had a much more pleasant visit with Dad this afternoon. He was back to crooning tunes to Margaret of every kind. For once, he strayed into my era, doing "Something" by the Beatles, more or less. Of course, he was 40 before Beatlemania hit, so this might legitimately be thought of as second middle-age-hood. Then again, so could the song from '55 from the other day. It's all a matter of perspective; the stuff I can't remember seems a lot longer ago than the stuff I can.
    In general, we seem to be coping a little better. The fabulous weather isn't hurting. I took advantage of it to walk the grounds out at Lowman Home during the first part of our visit this afternoon. The place is really lovely.
    All this is good, because the cats are picking this moment to drive me straight up a tree. Amelia is acting out and Harry continues to eat as if he has a tapeworm. Also he insisted on staying out even though the temperature got down to 40 last night. I guess we know now who is really a Norwegian forest cat!

It is NOT!

    (You'll be glad no doubt to hear that the subject line isn't about my dad, nor anything important at all. We did have a slightly grumpy visit. More on that later, maybe.)
    It's now been three weeks that there has been a "Right lane closed" temporary sign on Huger st. at Blossom St. in Columbia. It was true for maybe as long as one day. After two weeks, it was knocked down or fell, but some idiot went and picked it up. It's really kind of a risky situation, because if people take it seriously, they might get into accidents trying to merge to avoid the imaginary lane closure. So I wonder: is it civil disobedience to knock down such a sign when doing so would make driving significantly safer? Or would that be actual civil obedience? I seriously doubt I'll get around to it. I drive that road often enough that there's no chance that I'll forget that the lane isn't really closed. It's just odd.
    Then again, it's an odd place. A building was there; inexplicably it had fake yellow road signs on the front reading "Crowd Control?" and "Moron Control" (or possibly the other way around). Then that building was knocked down and now there's a foundation and a pile of sand. A really big pile of sand. Nothing ever seems to happen, but there's still equipment there. And perhaps sometimes the right lane is closed. Just never when I'm around. Go figure.
    Grumpiness at Lowman Home was pretty minor. I think we're all just tired and stressed out and uncertain. And it's frustrating that Dad doesn't hear better. But on the whole we had a nice visit. Unlike at the hospital, the football game (again on the SEC Network) isn't magically going to appear on the TV. So I ran over to the nearby WalMart and got him a little radio. I hope that works OK for him.

Street legal

    Getting street legal again cost a couple of grand, which is a couple of grand more than the car is worth. But I am fond of it and comfortable with it and have a fairly nutsy idea of getting it fixed up almost as good as new and then trying to keep it maintained that way for a while. I grew up in a household where we never took care of anything, not the house, not the cars, not anything. So until I show some signs of knowing how to maintain a car, I don't really feel comfortable buying a new one, since it would cease being a new one double-damn-quick. Also with nothing more difficult than getting a new stereo, a decent carwash and vacuuming and maybe three or four new hubcaps, this one would be pretty sparkly.
    I must say though that the rental car was a bit of an eye opener. I dug being able to control the radio from the steering wheel and was the tiniest bit frustrated to get back in my own car and not have that ability. But even at 20 years old, it has a better ride and better seats than the Mazda 2. So there.
    Car was done late so I had to turn in the rental before I had my car back. This made for a good deal of walking, which I never mind. But it just started raining; I'm so relieved that this didn't happen an hour or two ago when I was doing the stroll. Nice timing on the part of all concerned!

Care meeting

    We had Dad's first care meeting at Lowman Home. I talked with the social worker, the physical therapist and an RN. We had a nice chat. The takeaway is that taking him away will be tricky. Usually patients like Dad with gall bladder drains see the flow taper off, but that isn't the case with Dad. So, basically, unless he and Margaret can work out how to empty or change the drain bag, he'll need 24 hour skilled nursing care. Not to mention his continuing bathroom problems.
    Anyway, we all got along well and are all on the same page, more or less. And he definitely needs rehabilitation and physical therapy just to function at all regardless of whether he's eventually going home, so the course as of this minute is set no matter what. I forgot to ask whether he could get a hearing aid, but I will. I left with a pretty good feeling, a lot more optimistic than I was when I took him to the place for rehab 3 years ago.
    Then I turned around, went back to town, picked up Margaret and came right back. (1 pm, the care meeting time, is kind of early for her.) We had a nice visit, if too heavy on TV watching. But they sang some old tunes, too. And that's always sweet. Saturday, the State Fair comes to town and to my neighborhood, so I may not be able to bring her out to see him. But brother William is an excellent substitute.
    Meanwhile, the car was supposed to be ready this afternoon, but the call never came. The rental car is due tomorrow morning, but I guess I won't spit too many razors if I have to pay for a few extra hours. Maybe I'll try to chisel it out of them because of the non-working USB drive. Yeah, that'll happen!

So that explains it!

    I think I mentioned it already. Dad has a pacemaker. The pacemaker has a monitor. The monitor is usually hooked up to a phone line to phone home and tell the heart clinic that Dad's heart is still a-going and not a-flutter. His room at the nursing home doesn't have a phone line. So for a week now, we've been trying to suss it out. This is where English communication skills are or would be useful.
    The nurse said that the heart clinic said that if the monitor had a USB drive, they would be able to monitor Dad without a phone line. It does have a USB drive. Unfortunately, what she meant to say was that if it had a specific device plugged into the USB drive, they would be able to do it. That's different. I'm the last to criticize anyone for their technical knowledge or lack thereof, being a confirmed technopeasant, but the difference is an important one.
    I checked at Margaret's but there was no item that could be plugged into the USB drive. There was, however, a phone number for the rep at St. Jude's who installed it, so I called him. When he called back, he explained that since there had been a phone line, they hadn't provided the USB doohickey, but that he would send me one at no charge. So that explains it; we couldn't find it because it wasn't there. I wasn't looking for it because somebody couldn't convey what was needed. But all's well that ends well and we notice that after 3 weeks, the heart clinic isn't exactly all up in arms about the need to monitor him. So week it'll take for the doohickey to get here probably won't worry anybody further.
    Dad was mainly concerned that he didn't have TV at this dialysis, so I called. The secretary there said they would make sure he did. Hopefully that turns out to be the case.