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Tossed Salad Friday

~~ There’s a newbie in Dementia-ville. A very green new aide that doesn’t seem to know much at all about what to do. A while back, this wouldn’t be a problem, because the agency insisted that a nurse spend a day with a rookie. But this time no one came and she's already caused a pressure wound and a scratch, neither of which will heal quickly and both of which jeopardize the patient's well-being. Oh, says the agency, we’ll look into that lapse.

~~ Seems no one told the new woman that she needs to do her cooking in the designated area of Dementia-ville and not in our kitchen (we bought a microwave and provided my rice cooker after I could no longer stand the smell or the intrusion of the aide conducting a marathon cooking session). While aides for over a year have no issue, this one did. So every time she wants something she comes to the portal between Dementia-ville and my sanity and bellows, “MRS!”

~~ Wednesday evening, I was attempting to write a kids’ story for my magazine. Here’s a sample of what occurred:

The store that sold your SUP may “MRS!” also run paddle skill and safety “MRS!” courses. If they do, take a class or two. If not, look for another “MRS!” store or rental shop where you can learn how to maneuver and stay safer. “MRS!” A SUP instructor will also check that your lifejacket and leash models are correct “MRS!” and fit properly and tell you what kind of footwear you’ll need on your board. “MRS!”

~~ Twice I said, “Let me know once about everything you need and I’ll gather it.” The third time I said, “Please, I’m a writer, and the words need me. If I’m not there to write them down, they wander away.” She looked at me with uncomprehending eyes. Within three minutes she again yelled, “MRS!”

~~ The patient is quite vulnerable and I’m exceedingly irritable. I bet that no one is going to include Dementia-ville as a stop in their travel plans.

~~ Way back in the day, I wrote a pleading on behalf of a woman whose husband had ditched her and three kids. She was asking the court for help from her soon-to-be ex, who responded that she didn’t need anything from him because she was “temporarily penniless, not impoverished.” That phrase stuck with me, long after my prose persuaded the judge to award the woman a good sum of money. I tried to rationalize the difference over the years, sometimes quite successfully, but I’ve now arrived back at the words I wrote to the judge. If memory serves me, it went something like this: “No one has a right to tell someone she’s not destitute. If you can’t afford what you need, you’re needy.”

~~ I’m standing on the end of a pier. But I refuse to get wet.

~~ This nightmare we’re living? The USA “led” by a petulant cotton-coiffed toddler, his squinty eyed wife of dubious origins, and a country cleaved between love of democracy and vituperative worship of said toddler — this is Vlad Putin’s dream come true! Even after Election Day, the rancid disinformation campaigns and the ridiculous conspiracy theories oozing from Russia operatives, GOP obstructionists, and Baby tRump continue to guarantee that chaos controls and confusion replaces certainty. If this Thanksgiving is anything like the ones since 2015, I’m apprehensive for the fights and the hardened feelings that will hatch at many tables. At others, I know people who’ll be missing loved ones because they purposely chose to exclude them from their plans. As one friend told me, “It used to take a lot of beer to bring out the hatred and stupidity in some of my family. Since 45, they immediately start up with their ignorance. I just can’t deal with stuffing and ‘build the wall.’”

Dasvidaniya. Have a great weekend and a wonderful Thanksgiving.



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