"Third request?!"

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

Reliable

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

+1

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

This is the day

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

70s synth choir, karaoke choir or kazoo koir?

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

Long march

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

Dang head fell off!

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