?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ The Dementia-ville sound of the week is raucous laughter. The current aide watches some type of sitcom or game show where the audience roars repeatedly at whatever occurs. She laughs with delight as well, though I once overheard her in such hysterics that I wouldn’t be surprised if she was doubled up while shooting milk from her nose.
I’m glad she’s having such a rip-roaring time, but what does the patient think? If she does hear and process this, does she miss having fun, or is she bitter about her situation? Maybe she’s as oblivious as she seems, but it’s a strange scenario: an isolated invalid in a wheelchair, oblivious to the hearty guffaws of her caretaker beside her.

~~ The entry door to Dementia-ville is sometimes effective at trapping odors on the far side. One smell-free day on my side of the door was shattered as my husband opened and closed the door repeatedly to do some work. Here’s how my lunch break went:

{Muted laughter}
{Thunderous laughter, aroma of simmering gym socks}
{Muted laughter, lingering odor}
{Thunderous laughter, aroma of simmering gym socks seasoned with onions and habaneros}
{Muted laughter, lingering odor}
{Thunderous laughter and cheering, stench of percolating gym socks overly seasoned with onions, habaneros, and peat moss}

I finished lunch at my desk.

~~ Overheard: “She thinks she’s too good for all of us. Maybe she is, but still.”

~~ Overheard:  “I wanted to get my hair cut very short, but my sister beat me to it. Now I think she’ll think I’m copying her even though I think it was my idea first.”

~~ The yoga teacher shared a story with the class on the first day of my son’s absence from home.

Two friends were walking through the desert. During the journey, they had an argument. One friend slapped the other one in the face. The one who was slapped said nothing, but she took a stick and wrote in the sand, "TODAY MY BEST FRIEND SLAPPED ME."

They kept walking until they reached an oasis. The one who had been slapped ran ahead and got stuck in quicksand. Her friend rescued her, and after they refreshed themselves at the oasis, the one who almost died found a stone and carved into it, "TODAY MY BEST FRIEND SAVED MY LIFE."

The friend who had slapped and saved her best friend, asked, "After I hurt you, you wrote in the sand, and now, you write on a stone. Why?"

Her friend replied, "When someone hurts us, we should write it down in sand, where the winds of forgiveness can erase it, but when someone does something good for us, we must engrave it in stone, so no wind can ever erase it."

The teacher asked us to imagine writing what hurts us in sand and what buoys us in stone. I pictured myself writing, “My son doesn’t need me anymore” in the sand and “My son loves me” in stone. I felt enormously better after the exercise. I recommend it if something is troubling you.

~~ I have four books that I need to read and review. I was looking for a quick, funny book to use as a palate cleanser of sorts, and my library app suggested Slim to None by Jenny Gardiner.
The writer is talented, but the subject of a food reviewer grown too large to remain incognito isn't frothy for anyone who has fought with the scale. Rest assured happiness and weight are not stirred into one recipe, which made this a tasty read.

~~ When the conversation turned to politics, as it often did between us, she tells me her teenage daughter is becoming so disgusted by “people letting Donald tRump get away with so many things” that she’s afraid upcoming generations won’t have any respect for the institution of the presidency. “Then again,” she says, “neither do adults who voted for this dictator.”


Dasvidaniya. Have a great Labor Day weekend! (Where the hell did August go… or July for that matter?)
LET’S GO METS!
J!-E!-T!-S! JETS! JETS! JETS!

Profile

real_lawyer
LitaWrites

Latest Month

December 2018
S M T W T F S
      1
2345678
9101112131415
16171819202122
23242526272829
3031     

Tags

Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Keri Maijala