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Black Friday

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ The action was happening more than I liked, so I decided I’d count the occurrences. OK, that’s once, I thought about 8:00 am. Then, around 10:00 am, it happened again. But what went through my mind was more alarming: Crap, was that twice or three times? How could I lose track after just one incident?

~~ Lady Chatterley has returned to Dementia-ville! After stating unequivocally that I was the reason she’d never return, she showed up again. She’s just as surly as ever towards me, as inattentive as ever towards the dementia patient, and as animated and talkative as ever when on the phone.

~~ The dementia patient isn’t thrilled, either. Even if I was a music writer with a ready arsenal of audio adjectives, I’m fairly certain that I couldn’t do justice to the extended trilling and the frenzied shrieking that greeted Lady Chatterley’s reappearance. The demented screeching is hard to describe when there are no distinct words, but think about the noises you’d make if someone pushed you down a long flight of stairs into a dark cellar and then locked the door. Yes, that’s the exact sound.

~~ I ran into someone I haven’t seen in about a year (the last time we met was before the founding of Dementia-ville). She was happy to see me, but then asked with real concern, “Is everything OK? You look unwell.” I burst out crying before composing myself as quickly as I could. She was relieved as I assured her that I was physically fine, but wondered about the tears. I brought her up to speed, relaying how I have become a shell of my former self (while growing increasingly large, thanks to the lovely escape provided by stress eating). “Oh, shit,” she said. “These stories rarely end well.”

~~ I debated whether to include this next anecdote or not, but decided to go for it. Inasmuch as we have a soon-to-be prez who is as foul as they come, this tale may not shock anyone at all. OK, here it is:  About 10:45 pm, one of my pups asked to go out, so we ran down to the back door. Said door is at the foot of the stairs that leads up to the aide’s room. I hear a distinctive buzz, buzz, buzz but can’t place which appliance would be making such a noise. While awaiting the pup’s return, I discover the vibrational source as I hear the aide’s voice rise in a crescendo that climaxes into, well, a joyful climax. Jeez, Louise, what kind of life do I live?

~~ I was driving to yoga and there wasn’t another car on the busy road about 9:15 am. Just then, the NPR station played a snippet of a song as a bridge between stories. A solo pianist performed the expressive melody, and as I drove on this deserted road with the soundtrack, I got the feeling I was in a movie.
You know the one where the exasperated and anguished heroine flings the expensive vase against the fireplace mantel? The one where she then declares, “I deserve better than this! I’m moving to [Nashville, Hollywood, Greenwich Village, Florence, Paris] and you’ll never see me again!” The tune playing as she drives away is called something like “Unravelling,” and the next scene takes place in a roadside coffee shop or train station (not a yoga studio), but you get the picture. Literally.

~~ I hope you appreciated today’s narrative. I can say with certainty that I don’t enjoy having such an abundance of personal yarns to share.

Have a good weekend!

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ I hope you had a good New Year’s Eve and Day. I also hope that things are getting off to the best possible start for you, considering that 1) it’s January and 2) we’re hurtling towards doom.

~~ I decided to shake up one of the few things within my control these days and cut my hair. The stylist lopped off around four inches and made the ends look askew by hacking them every which way — in other words, it was a dramatic change. I thought it looked nice, but then things started to happen.

~~ I looked in the mirror and John Denver, circa 1973, was looking back at me.

~~ I spent two hours at dinner with four family members who didn’t seem to notice any change at all. A day later, as I walked down a street towards yoga, a resident with whom I have a nodding acquaintance said, “Love the new hair!”

~~ A woman in yoga said, “Wow! You’ve lost weight!” I haven’t lost weight. Someone else said, “I thought you got a haircut, but then realized it was your earmuffs.” I wasn’t wearing earmuffs.

~~ The chair of an organization to which I belong arranged for a CPR course for members. It’s early-ish on a Sunday morning, it costs money, and I still remember the drill from the last time I took a course (great, now the Bee Gees Stayin’ Alive is in my head). So I deleted the email announcement. I guess other people did as well, resulting in this oh-so-wrong follow-up from the chair:

The response we have gotten to making this available to our congregation and friends is deafening silence. What are you people thinking? Do you think that the techniques will come to you subliminally? Isn’t it important to be ready for the chance to save another person?

~~ The only thing he left out was a whiny, “What do you have to lose?” In any case, I am fairly certain this guy isn’t employed in the fields of marketing, human resources, or customer satisfaction.

~~ Overheard: Mom, think about it. How the hell do you medicate away being a fool?

~~ It’s a beautiful day in Dementia-ville, especially if you enjoy hearing soaring, melodic, dare I say operatic arias, climaxing in Getttttttttttttttttttt Outtttttttttttttttttttttttt!  Mariah Carey may not be able to hit these notes anymore, but the dementia patient surely can. There’s another work in progress, but it’s obvious the libretto isn’t finished. It starts out You Stupid You, then trails into an ear-splitting Youuuu that just hangs in the air, waiting for a coda that never comes.

~~ The new aide seems nice. So, of course, we hear that she’s leaving Monday.

~~ When I ran spellcheck on this blog, it urged me to substitute Stalin for Stayin’ in the CPR paragraph. Et tu, spellcheck?

Have a good weekend!


Tossed Salad Friday

~~ I told a yogi I missed her the previous week. “Oh, I was sick,” she said. “I just have a really bad cold now. Last week it was a virus.” Isn’t a cold a virus? I didn’t want to pursue the topic.

~~ I thought I’d pick up a certain book at the library, but I didn’t have a car. I mentally assigned the task to the next day… and then the proverbial thunderbolt hit me. What was this, 2005? Did I need to drive to the library? I opened a browser, signed onto the library site, and about 30 seconds later the book was on my Kindle. What a Luddite moment — don’t judge me, OK?

~~ There’s a commercial on TV selling some religious artifact in a cross for “just $29.99.” The announcer says it contains a stone from the cave where Jesus was born. What happened to the stable? I’m not being irreverent, but am I uninformed about the birthplace? I’ve heard this song all my life:
Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,
The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head,
The stars in the bright sky looked down where he lay,
The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.
Maybe a clump of straw in a gold-toned necklace wouldn’t sell for almost 30 bucks?

~~ Dementia-ville was a busy place this week. I wanted to be certain what holiday the aide (Lady Chatterley) celebrated, if any, so after wishing her a good morning, I asked if she celebrated Christmas. She did, so I wished her a merry day and she said the same to me. Which would be lovely if I wasn’t standing next to a menorah and surrounded by Hanukkah decorations. But since she never says a word to me, this was a holiday miracle in every faith!

~~ Next day, I’m cooking and the door between the patient’s area and the kitchen keeps opening a crack and then quickly slamming again. Lady Chatterley was peeking in, seeing me, and retreating.
My husband says that she was being considerate, but he wasn’t standing there being peered at about 10 times. Why not just ask me to let her know when I’m finished in the kitchen instead of repeating the creeeeeeeeeak open, squint in, door slam scene?

~~ Moving forward a few days, Lady Chatterley calls my husband on his cell to ask if I am planning to do laundry. Why not ask me, he wonders, as I’m in the house? He’s told that I am “not in the kitchen.” Where I obviously reside 24/7.

~~ Yesterday Lady C. yelled at me that she’s never coming back here because I am always yelling at her. And she left.

~~ While telling this story to a friend in the yoga studio, another woman who has shared tales of experiences with her grandmother interrupted to say, “Hope you didn’t give her too much cash for Christmas before she bailed on you.” Cash? We gave her a very nice gift though the agency instructed us that wasn’t necessary. But no cash. “That’s why she left,” said the knowledgeable woman. “She stayed over Christmas just to pull down some cash.” Yikes — we didn’t know. “Oh, don’t sweat it,” she said. “She was probably going to leave, anyway. We gave one aide $100.00 for Christmas and she claimed she had to leave because of food poisoning three hours later.”

~~ A new aide is here, and one of the first things she did was call the agency to report a bruise on the patient’s hand. The case worker calls my spouse and he asks me to go look — it’s a bruise near her elbow that seems like it’s been around for the better part of the week. Why did new aide call it in? “Oh, [Lady C.] told me that she’s been too busy the past few days to call the agency, so I should do it.” How can you be too busy on the phone to make a phone call?

~~ I’ve written over 700 words yet still not touched on life and death or politics. Those topics will still be here, but I need to wrap this up. And shed at least 700 tears.

Happy 2017! This year was a global, national, and personal disaster, but that doesn’t mean I await 2017with delight. Oh, well, enjoy if you’re so inclined.
The end is here.

Tossed Salad Friday


~~ She’s telling me about a ridiculous plan hatched up by her husband to drive far from their home to attend a 9:00 am showing of the newest Star Wars’ movie. Seems the other couple offered to meet them at a theater halfway between their homes, but her spouse expressed his willingness to go all the way east at an early hour on the last Sunday before Christmas. She was resentful but resigned, and so off they went. When I checked in later to see if a) theaters served popcorn at that time of the morning and b) how she liked the movie, I received an affirmation on the popcorn plus this information: [Spouse] got a call from work and missed half of the movie.

~~ A safety pin may have saved my life this week. Ever since I decided to wear a safety pin as a show of solidarity and invitation, I've carried a few extra pins in my purse. When someone comments, I offer to provide one. While I am at an intersection, walking back to my car, I look all around. I grab my keys from my purse, and as I start to cross, I notice a safety pin has caught on my keys and fallen onto the street. If a kid or a dog got the pin, I'd feel responsible, so I stepped back to the curb to pick up the pin. Just then, a car raced through the stop sign on the main street and careened around the corner right in front of me. I might be deader than a doornail if it wasn't for that pin.
~~ A PR guy made me feel very old yesterday. I made a reference to the “Sloop John B,” and he had zero idea what I meant. If you don’t either, don’t tell me… just watch this:

OK, I know the Kingston Trio did it a decade earlier, but I didn’t want to feel ancient.

~~ "Do you prefer 'Happy Hanukkah' or 'Happy holidays'?" she wondered.

"Either is fine." I replied. "You?"

"I celebrate Christmas so no need to mention the word holiday," she responded. Good to know!

~~ I’ve decided that this week’s (in) action figure in Dementia-ville will be called Lady Chatterley. With her utter devotion to her cellphone and her quest to set a new world record for conversations held while allegedly working, I think the nickname is most appropriate.

~~ How’s [the patient], wondered a friend. “She sat around all day shrieking Naked,” I replied. She pressed me for immediate clarification: “Was she singing while naked or was she clothed and singing the word ‘Naked’?” She was clothed, but her protracted one-word-song stripped me of all reason to carry on.

~~ The other day, Lady Chatterley walks into the kitchen and goes to the sink. The patient is yelping quite loudly, so I get up and start walking towards her. Lady C. turns off the water and beats me back to the area. She starts saying, loudly and solicitously, “Are you OK, dear? Is everything OK?” C’mon, she was shrieking when you walked away from her, and you’re only being soothing so I don’t tell my spouse. Oops, plan spoiled.

~~ As I type this, I am hearing Get out, you you you you. I don’t want you here! No comment.

~~ I delayed reading The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt for quite a while. I had the feeling I would love it and was waiting to treat myself. Then I remembered that books aren’t just treats. They are also transformations, and I really needed one of those. So I started reading… and couldn’t stop. This was one of the most exquisite books I have ever had the pleasure to read. Each word is a gem and each page is a masterpiece. For this past week, I’ve been transported to a world of words, art, tragedy, friendship, love, treachery, and resignation. A world where nothing eventually mattered while everything suddenly did. If you haven’t read it, I urge you to do so. If you read the novel years ago, be smug. I envy you for having absorbed this work of art much earlier.

~~ My family got together to celebrate Hanukkah a bit early. Here we are:

From my family to yours, Happy Festivus, Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, Feliz Navidad, and Joyous Kwanzaa! Say it as often as you can now. Next year we’ll have to say счастливого Рождества.
J!-E!-T!-S! Blech.

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ Let’s commence with the daft doings in Dementia-ville, shall we? There’s progress of sorts on the stink side, as I was only knocked over by smells twice this week. Once, it reeked as if an entire NFL team had suddenly lost control of their bowels. The other time, it smelled worse.

~~ The You are Shit song has a new variation. Or perhaps You are Ass Shit, Ass, Ass, Shit, Shit Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit is a whole new song. It’s like the playlist of a heavy metal death band  — I know the tunes vary a bit but, damn, the lyrics all sound the same.

~~ I was at the back door waiting quietly for my dogs about 10:30 pm when the aide came down from her room, headed toward the kitchen. She spotted me and did such a rapid about-face on the stairs that she resembled a cartoon character.

~~ “Looking for Christmas decorations?” asked the man selling wreaths on the street. “No, thanks,” I replied. “But they are very pretty!” As I walk away, I hear him engage someone else with, “Buy a very pretty wreath for Christmas?”

~~ She acknowledged my safety pin, so I reached into my purse and gave her one. “Thanks,” she beamed. “But I don’t know whether to wear it or stick it into an orange voodoo doll.”

~~ A woman seemed innocuous despite talking to herself at Trader Joe’s. “Anything I can do?” I inquired. She smiled and asked if I knew which of the energy, protein, and fruit bars she was looking at were vegan. I did know and told her which was which. Unbidden, she related to me how she was on a 10-day cleanse that prohibited animal products. She was only on day one, but boy, did this cleanse sound like a doozy! I must have made quite the face when she advised that her breakfast was 32-ounces of salt water, because she immediately reassured me, “It was sea salt.” The point of the cleanse was to lose 10-15 pounds, but frankly, you’d have to assure me I’d lose both 15 pounds and 15 years off my face before I’d drink a bucket of seawater.

~~ I knit a lovely kerchief for a teacher and friend in a delicate and sheepy yarn. The kerchief was a deceptively time-consuming project, because you start with four stitches and end up with 90. Therefore, every row takes you longer to knit than did the one before it. Once the triangle was completed, I added hundreds of more stitches to make the ties.

Despite its duration, I made it with love and with good thoughts in every stitch. When it was finally completed (very late at night after many evenings of intensive knitting), I laid it down near my open purse and went to bed. That purse has a long strip of Velcro inside to fasten it, but I didn’t take that into account, being all punchy-tired and knitted out. The next morning when I went to retrieve the scarf and steam it straight, I found it stuck to the Velcro in at least eight spots! It was a bear to pull apart, and pull apart it did. If there’s a moral here, it’s hiding. Which is probably the best place for it, considering all the swearing it heard while I deconstructed and reconstructed the kerchief.

~~ Overheard: “Her husband seems like a pretty nice guy, if you like small eyes and no butt.”

~~ I was feeling lower than low yesterday afternoon when a package arrived. Inside was a gift from a wonderful friend who says she sent it just to say she was thinking of me. People, we often have no idea what’s truly going on in someone else’s life, but if you’re thinking of a person, let him or her know. It doesn’t have to involve a gift, but it does have to acknowledge s/he matters.

Have a great weekend!

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ “How’s your daughter?” one woman asks another. “Which one — the one I like or the other one?”

~~ All I said to a nodding acquaintance was, “Hi! How are you?” The response was very detailed; here’s how I remember it: “Not so great. I took a mental health day, you know? Because my boss is a dried-up piece of shit who doesn’t know how to do a damn thing, so he keeps pressing me, pressing me, pressing me to do everything. You know how that chaps your ass? Mine, too. And I stuff my feelings down with too much food and that’s not healthy, so all I want for Christmas is to get away, but that’s not happening because, like I said, my boss sucks.”

~~ I sat near a woman in a waiting room who was crying on the phone. Seems there was an accident near the restaurant (or bar) where she worked, and since traffic was detoured, she only made $12.00 in tips. Bus fare to and from the doctor’s office was $4.50, and she owed a $15.00 co-pay. She sounded miserable, and of course, I felt terrible. I ached to pay her bill anonymously, but all I had in my wallet was 25 cents. When they called my name, I walked by her chair, reached underneath and said, “You dropped this” as I handed her the quarter. I didn’t feel any better, and she probably didn’t, either, but it’s important to keep the sharing muscle toned.

~~ “I’m tired of people like you,” he wrote in an email. “You use your blog as a tool to spread anti-American garbage.” My reply: Please stop reading my PERSONAL blog, as it is indeed intended only to share my OPINION.

~~ This has to be a joke-joke, right?

~~ As long as I’m posting tweets:

~~ I know the Time cover isn’t a literary distinction, but in the world of Der Pumpkinfuhrer* and his supporters, it seems like it is one — from what I hear and read, they consider it validation. Too bad this cover isn’t real, as it certainly couldn’t be misinterpreted:

*nod to Daily Kos http://www.dailykos.com/story/2016/12/7/1608326/-Time-s-Person-of-the-Year-Der-Pumpkinfuhrer

~~ For those of you who wade through my politics to get to Dementia-ville, your reward is forthcoming. If you’re in the opposite camp, skip to my weekend wishes and get on with your day.

~~ She’s screaming, screaming, screaming. What’s wrong? Nothing that I can discern except that the aide is gabbing, gabbing, gabbing on the phone.

~~ This is the same aide who can’t find the strength to say “Hello” back when I speak to her, but can chatter, natter, and chinwag on the phone for at least 10 hours per day. She’s also the one who responded to my husband’s inquiry as to why she never responds to me, “It’s probably because I’m sick and my throat hurts.” Say what?

~~ Stop, you lousy you, you, you! she screeches as if the Vikings had breached the sea wall of her village. However, all’s well in her little dementia castle — she’s just pissed at a contestant on Game Show Network.

~~ I find myself singing the theme to “Mash” a lot lately. I know all the words.

Have a great weekend!

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ She asks me about my Thanksgiving. I answered that it was fun. When I turn the question around, she says, “Please don’t ask unless you want an answer that involves slapping, pie on the floor, and at least two people joining AA.” I was happy to get a more detailed answer, but she was next up on the bathroom line, so we left it there.

~~ The yoga teacher says she’ll be doing lots of twists in class to “wring the extra stuffing out” of us.
I wonder if the ancient yogis in India ever said, “Let’s form a discipline that contorts the intestines of over-eaters!” (If they did, it would have been in Sanskrit.)

~~ There’s a public school teacher over here wailing about Trump’s nomination of a private school proponent for Secretary of Education. Over there is a Bernie Bro bitching about the Goldman Sachs’ers swarming into the administration. See that Jew in the corner outraged that anti-Semitism is running neck and neck with Islamophobia? She shares a common trait with the teacher and the Wall Street hater: they all voted for Trump. The teacher told me, “I didn’t like how cruel and creepy he was, but I wanted change.” Lucky you, getting just what you wanted — smaller public schools and the disappearance of wide-ranging education.

~~ Oh, yeah, I almost forgot to mention the grandma who had no problem overlooking Trump’s mocking of a disabled reporter though she has two grandkids with disabilities. She says she voted for him because “He’s not her.” She told me she’s “incensed that there’s any talk about Social Security decreases” in the upcoming Congress, claiming that’s “off the table forever.” I responded, “It’s OK to take away women’s rights and LGBTQ rights but you can’t touch Social Security?” She replied, “Oh, those aren’t rights. Let’s change the subject.”

~~ If you get all your news from Fox and faux-Fox, you probably aren’t reading my blog. But if you’re here and think the Trump kids, particularly Ivanka, are so great, how about reading this? http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/ivanka-trumps-terrible-book-helps-explain-the-trump-family-ethos. Here are two awful passages describing her autobiography:

She offers a story about being forced, by her mother, to fly coach to the south of France as the moment she realized she needed to make her own money. She has a sour sense of humor: she describes attending the élite prep school Choate Rosemary Hall as an opportunity “to look at the world from a whole new angle. Even if it meant living in a building named for someone else!”

She and her brothers finally tried to sell lemonade at their summer place in Connecticut, but their neighborhood was so ritzy that there was no foot traffic. “As good fortune would have it, we had a bodyguard that summer,” she writes. They persuaded their bodyguard to buy lemonade, and then their driver, and then the maids, who “dug deep for their spare change.” The lesson, she says, is that the kids “made the best of a bad situation.”

~~ Want to know what’s going on in Dementia-ville? Well, the aide who was explicitly asked to do the wash on Monday did it on Thursday and yelled at someone in Creole for almost one hour at the top of her lungs as her patient screeched and wailed. I tried to break it up twice, but inasmuch as this aide has decided that the proper response to my saying hello is [crickets], she didn’t really give a rip that I objected to her scream-fest.

~~ To the man in the store who asked, “Are pints and gallons close in size?” the cashier was dead wrong when she said, “Pretty much, yeah.”
Have a great weekend!

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ The weekend aide took silverware from our drawer and washed it with dish soap. "Those are clean, you know," I say. "Oh, you can't tell," she replies.

~~ The Monday aide was a giant piece of work. That is. she loomed large and wide, though her brain was seemingly quite undersized. Neither one of us has the time to go through all her quirks, but I will share a few. Such as her being asked not to do a wash so that I could do mine, only to soon see a load of wash spinning round. I confronted her, but she claimed, “The lady poo’ed all over herself.” What could I do but pound one fist into the other a few times and walk away — the patient’s needs are always paramount. Except I didn’t walk far enough to not hear her eventually take the clothes from the dryer and walk them up to her room. Excuse me, but did you wash your own clothes? She looks at me contemptuously, turns on her heel, and lumbers away.

~~ She complains her room is cold, so my husband says he’ll raise the thermostat. He finds that she didn’t sleep in the room and goes to investigate what else could be wrong. What was wrong was that the window was open and it was 40 degrees outside! When I next see her, I inform her that the window was open. “Oh,” she says. “My mind doesn’t go there.” Where the hell is there? Does it take a superior intellect to check the window if a room feels cold?

~~ The dementia patient is screeching at the top of her lungs, so I go to check. In the corner, on a prayer mat and veiled from head-to-toe in a diaphanous fabric, the aide stands rigidly while silently moving her lips. She’s praying while her patient cries out. This happens again a few hours later, so it is apparent that she is both agitating the patient and ignoring the resulting discomfort. Religious accommodation is one thing, but paying no heed multiple times per day to the person you’re charged with watching? That’s not good.

~~ Later on, I need to tell her something. She’s sitting, looking dazed (or empty-headed). As she turns to answer, her right breast falls out of her shirt. OK, never mind. Get out of my house and take that breast with you.

~~ A recent aide returned again on Thanksgiving, so we’ve had three (or is it four?) aides in the space of 10 days. On purpose, arranged by the agency. The same agency who swears this doesn’t happen.

~~ I’m done recounting aide stories for now. It’s just too damn much.

~~ Two women at yoga are discussing plans for Thanksgiving. One is having six people over, the other 11. The six-woman asks, “Are they all big eaters?” The 11-woman snorts, “You could say that. I think they eat their own weight before dessert.”

~~ I don’t know what your Thanksgiving meal was like, but mine was quite nice. Politics was discussed, but not in an incendiary way, as we’re all on the same page. The two most popular discussions were the Knicks and fondue. I had no freaking clue fondue was such a hot topic [wink] but it animated a majority of the table for an extended period. Near as I can figure, chocolate fondue is wildly popular (though not as well liked as “chocolate pudding pie”) and cheese fondue is three steps below pumpkin pie. If you had asked me before Thursday to list what I thought would occupy the conversation, I’d have nailed the politics and Knicks, but would never have imagined a long, lively, and eventually hilarious conversation about dipping skewered food.

Have a great weekend!

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ Hello from dementia-land, where nothing is actually good and not worse is the best you can hope for under the circumstances. I won’t swear to it, but it sure sounds like the patient is currently screeching Swing, batter, batter, batter!, at the tip-top of her very robust lungs.

~~ The current aide monopolized the washing machine all day on Monday. I needed to do laundry but waited until Tuesday. I strip the bed etc. and bring the overloaded basket down the stairs. Wait, what’s that noise? No, it can’t be the start of a wash because I am not yet there… but it is, indeed. It's infuriating how I can't do laundry using my own washer and dryer when I need to do so.

~~ The day deteriorated from there. My nerves were fraying rapidly as other assorted assaults exploded my lack of autonomy and privacy, including the operose screaming, incessant Creole phone conversations, and the regular stink that delivers a punch-in-the-nose.

~~ The next day, the health care agency insisted it had to send a nurse to evaluate the aide. The aide who has been here a couple of weeks? Yes, her. The aide who says she’s leaving in two days? Yes again. A nurse arrives at 8:45 pm (seriously?) to review all the duties and responsibilities with someone who has been doing the job for quite a while. One responsibility is to never to be on the phone when she’s working — ha! The nurse should only hear the chatter, but what’s the difference? The agency needs the aide to work for them to collect the Medicare money, so they won’t do a damn thing about it. When I say something, the aide looks at me with complete disdain.

~~So, days before Thanksgiving, we’ll be getting a new aide. The nurse says she’ll be back Monday night (gimme a break) but I’ll lay you odds the new aide bolts before Thanksgiving. Unless of course she’s so bad my husband insists that she leave first.

~~ I know what I sound like, but you’d be jaded, too, if you lived like this. I’m certain even Mary Poppins would have her gears ground by this situation.

~~ Indifference; must practice indifference...

~~ With all the dreadfulness taking place around us, it was at first infuriating to listen to a conversation happening nearby. Then I grew amused at its absurdity — two women were earnestly debating whether it was “sleep like a dog” or “sleep like a log.” I believe we all know it’s “log,” but as I type this, my canines rival any fallen tree for deep slumber.
~~ Speaking of trees, I wood would like to declare how much fun it is to watch Kristaps Porziņģis play. I’ll have something besides politics to talk about at Thanksgiving — most of the family doesn’t cotton to hockey, the Jets stink worse than any cauldron of fishy goat stew the aide boils up, and we talk about the Mets’ off-season stupidity ad infinitum. But Porziņģis is likely a new and exciting Thanksgiving topic!

~~ Have a wonderful Thanksgiving in the presence of those you love. But please don’t eat a turkey. Adopt one and eat stuffed squash instead! http://www.farmsanctuary.org/giving/adopt-a-turkey/

Have a great weekend!



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