Okay, who said, "Up the Aricept"? Suddenly coherence and initiative are back, if not the legs and muscle tone to back it all up. At least this is making my meanderings easier, since we are conjoined these days...
Ah well...
So, when I said coherence is back, I wasn't referring to mine; surely you noticed that...
Monday, August 27, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
Another Day
Another day, another adventure.
When one is newly hatched, one sleeps, eats, poops, and repeats the process. Teeth come and go, for such are the vicissitudes of life. When one is at the other end of the journey, en route back to the Eternal Womb from which all life and matter originally sprang, one sleeps, eats, poops, and repeats the process to the best of one's waning abilities. Teeth go, alas, for good. Such is life.
This morning's crunchy cereal will have to have been the last such experience. Returning teeth to their Maker means an end to crunchy goodness, according to the learned dental doctor. Hm... what does that mean for the erstwhile cook? True, oatmeal is good for the cardiovascular system, but what about other meals, other needs for dental sensations?
For the doctor who hands out pens inscribed, "Eat candy; keep dentists employed," one can only proffer a bag of chocolate macadamia nut cookies.
So much for spending the morning cooking. So, too, the afternoon, in the aftermath of the realization that there is no chicken broth anywhere to be found in this house. How is that possible? Did not a case come in from Costco just last month? Oh wait, that was across the water in another state, another world, another life...
This ramble should be on the Foggy page, for that is what this day has been. Ah well...
Up the Aricept please.
When one is newly hatched, one sleeps, eats, poops, and repeats the process. Teeth come and go, for such are the vicissitudes of life. When one is at the other end of the journey, en route back to the Eternal Womb from which all life and matter originally sprang, one sleeps, eats, poops, and repeats the process to the best of one's waning abilities. Teeth go, alas, for good. Such is life.
This morning's crunchy cereal will have to have been the last such experience. Returning teeth to their Maker means an end to crunchy goodness, according to the learned dental doctor. Hm... what does that mean for the erstwhile cook? True, oatmeal is good for the cardiovascular system, but what about other meals, other needs for dental sensations?
For the doctor who hands out pens inscribed, "Eat candy; keep dentists employed," one can only proffer a bag of chocolate macadamia nut cookies.
So much for spending the morning cooking. So, too, the afternoon, in the aftermath of the realization that there is no chicken broth anywhere to be found in this house. How is that possible? Did not a case come in from Costco just last month? Oh wait, that was across the water in another state, another world, another life...
This ramble should be on the Foggy page, for that is what this day has been. Ah well...
Up the Aricept please.
One Week
It's hard to believe that one week has passed since Dad returned home. Things are falling into a routine that becomes more comfortable with each passing day. As he did when in the hospital and in rehab, he gets stronger and more alert each day. The other morning I awoke to find that he was returning from a solo trip to the bathroom. Needless to say, I freaked. He said he hadn't wanted to disturb me...
The first couple of days I'd been feeling a little trapped, but it then it dawned on me that I'd been told only that I should never leave Dad alone, not that I had to keep him locked up. Since then we've been trying to get out of the house at least once a day. I say trying advisedly. The first day we tried just didn't happen; he wasn't moving fast enough yet. That was okay. The next day was a success. We have now been out three consecutive days, mostly to the local drugstore and/or marketing.
At first we were limited to what Dad could hold in his admittedly tiny lap. I started watching others hobbling about with various and sundry devices until I realized that young mothers pushing strollers were whizzing about the markets. Those modern strollers come fully equipped, much like the minivans those ladies drive. What I need to do is equip Dad's wheelchair with some handy dandy bags, pouches, carrying containers. Enlightenment is a wonderful thing... (I try not to rush through life...)
At first I was missing television dreadfully. The rehab center had just installed a brand-new hd flatscreen during Dad's last week there, and I'd gotten spoiled again. Now, however, we are once again getting the daily paper delivered. Dad spends much of his waking hours reading through it, getting just a little bit further faster each day. It's great to see the progress he's making, from recounting cartoons to discussing issue-oriented articles.
I miss my cats, especially Max, but I sense that this is the right place for me to be at this time. I just have to work on juggling and taking others into consideration a little bit more than I've done in recent years. Hm... I may have to grow up a bit after all. Ah well... If Harry did, I guess I can, too. ;->
The first couple of days I'd been feeling a little trapped, but it then it dawned on me that I'd been told only that I should never leave Dad alone, not that I had to keep him locked up. Since then we've been trying to get out of the house at least once a day. I say trying advisedly. The first day we tried just didn't happen; he wasn't moving fast enough yet. That was okay. The next day was a success. We have now been out three consecutive days, mostly to the local drugstore and/or marketing.
At first we were limited to what Dad could hold in his admittedly tiny lap. I started watching others hobbling about with various and sundry devices until I realized that young mothers pushing strollers were whizzing about the markets. Those modern strollers come fully equipped, much like the minivans those ladies drive. What I need to do is equip Dad's wheelchair with some handy dandy bags, pouches, carrying containers. Enlightenment is a wonderful thing... (I try not to rush through life...)
At first I was missing television dreadfully. The rehab center had just installed a brand-new hd flatscreen during Dad's last week there, and I'd gotten spoiled again. Now, however, we are once again getting the daily paper delivered. Dad spends much of his waking hours reading through it, getting just a little bit further faster each day. It's great to see the progress he's making, from recounting cartoons to discussing issue-oriented articles.
I miss my cats, especially Max, but I sense that this is the right place for me to be at this time. I just have to work on juggling and taking others into consideration a little bit more than I've done in recent years. Hm... I may have to grow up a bit after all. Ah well... If Harry did, I guess I can, too. ;->
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Day 3
No, you didn't miss the first two days.
It's been a long week, and this has just been the beginning. Dad was scheduled to come home on Wednesday, but that got pushed back till Thursday. Friends appeared out of the blue and offered much needed help, without which nothing would have gotten done. It's amazing how enervating and paralyzing emotional attachments and half-forgotten memories can be.
Finally, mid-Wednesday, the hospital bed arrived. The place was as prepared as it was going to get. A brief, unwarranted celebration that nevertheless went on too long left this poor fool groggier than intended Thursday morning - the morning of Dad's release. A quick couple of hours slid by as last minute touches and realization of things yet to be done flitted through this porous brain. Then it was time and past time for the pickup.
Dad was so ready to be released. He'd been ready all week, truth to tell. Still, there was paperwork to be signed and last minute checks to be executed. A promise to return for the flowers was met by panic from the staff. There were demands that "Papa" not be left alone in the car -at all. There was a demand that they be called, a promise that the flowers would be brought out. When the call came, there was only one flower brought out. The other had been discarded as dead. The leftover shaving cream had been ignored. There were no extra support materials to be had. (Have I mentioned how much I dislike the day shift's attitude?)
Then we were homeward bound. Everything was like new. Disorientation was nearly complete. A month can be a long time, especially when one has not been conscious for all of it...
Home proved less ready than anticipated. The changes were shocking, yet still inadequate. The floor was too clear yet not clear enough. There's just no pleasing some folks. Food was overly abundant, though this morning's breakfast was too small. Sarcasm evidently not appreciated...
Never leave him alone, they said. That can be a trifle wearing. Try staying with someone, anyone, for twenty-four hours. Try remaining attentive and anticipatory. Go ahead; try it. Healthy people drive me to drink with that much attentiveness. Try someone in need.
And yet, this is my choice. This is something I know I have to do. We'll see how the succeeding days go...
It's been a long week, and this has just been the beginning. Dad was scheduled to come home on Wednesday, but that got pushed back till Thursday. Friends appeared out of the blue and offered much needed help, without which nothing would have gotten done. It's amazing how enervating and paralyzing emotional attachments and half-forgotten memories can be.
Finally, mid-Wednesday, the hospital bed arrived. The place was as prepared as it was going to get. A brief, unwarranted celebration that nevertheless went on too long left this poor fool groggier than intended Thursday morning - the morning of Dad's release. A quick couple of hours slid by as last minute touches and realization of things yet to be done flitted through this porous brain. Then it was time and past time for the pickup.
Dad was so ready to be released. He'd been ready all week, truth to tell. Still, there was paperwork to be signed and last minute checks to be executed. A promise to return for the flowers was met by panic from the staff. There were demands that "Papa" not be left alone in the car -at all. There was a demand that they be called, a promise that the flowers would be brought out. When the call came, there was only one flower brought out. The other had been discarded as dead. The leftover shaving cream had been ignored. There were no extra support materials to be had. (Have I mentioned how much I dislike the day shift's attitude?)
Then we were homeward bound. Everything was like new. Disorientation was nearly complete. A month can be a long time, especially when one has not been conscious for all of it...
Home proved less ready than anticipated. The changes were shocking, yet still inadequate. The floor was too clear yet not clear enough. There's just no pleasing some folks. Food was overly abundant, though this morning's breakfast was too small. Sarcasm evidently not appreciated...
Never leave him alone, they said. That can be a trifle wearing. Try staying with someone, anyone, for twenty-four hours. Try remaining attentive and anticipatory. Go ahead; try it. Healthy people drive me to drink with that much attentiveness. Try someone in need.
And yet, this is my choice. This is something I know I have to do. We'll see how the succeeding days go...
Thursday, August 09, 2007
In the Name of Security
No, this doesn't upset or anger me at all! (Click on the title for the link to the article to which I am reacting.)
I guess I should pay more attention to the news. I had no idea that these sorts of ideas were even being bounced around. If this is an improvement, I don't even want to know what was being considered initially.
When I was a child, I thought nothing of providing my name, age, I.Q., and shoe size upon request to whomever asked. How else were adults to know who I was as I made my way through the wide, mysterious world?
Those days, however, are long gone. No longer a child living with implicit trust in the wisdom and infallibility of those ostensibly in charge of my safety and wellbeing, I live instead in fear of identity theft. The very information that once assured my safety now seems a broad gateway for malicious thieves to steal what little there is of my sense of self. There's something twisted about such a perversion. Why should one's name, date of birth, and gender be such dangerous tools in the wrong hands?
In great strength inherently lies great weakness. If this information links me to all that I have amassed, (which I admit ain't much,) then it also serves as the key for those who would relieve me of my worldly burdens. I use "the" with great intent, as there are no other options, as I see it. Burdens, I say, because my worldly goods have become burdens in need of care and concern. Of course, stripping me of these burdens will not free me in any way that I desire at present either... Therein lies the dilemma. This is not a matter of to have or not to have.
Fortunately, I do not place my whole sense of identity in my possessions. Unfortunately, evidently my government does. Ah well...
I guess I should pay more attention to the news. I had no idea that these sorts of ideas were even being bounced around. If this is an improvement, I don't even want to know what was being considered initially.
When I was a child, I thought nothing of providing my name, age, I.Q., and shoe size upon request to whomever asked. How else were adults to know who I was as I made my way through the wide, mysterious world?
Those days, however, are long gone. No longer a child living with implicit trust in the wisdom and infallibility of those ostensibly in charge of my safety and wellbeing, I live instead in fear of identity theft. The very information that once assured my safety now seems a broad gateway for malicious thieves to steal what little there is of my sense of self. There's something twisted about such a perversion. Why should one's name, date of birth, and gender be such dangerous tools in the wrong hands?
In great strength inherently lies great weakness. If this information links me to all that I have amassed, (which I admit ain't much,) then it also serves as the key for those who would relieve me of my worldly burdens. I use "the" with great intent, as there are no other options, as I see it. Burdens, I say, because my worldly goods have become burdens in need of care and concern. Of course, stripping me of these burdens will not free me in any way that I desire at present either... Therein lies the dilemma. This is not a matter of to have or not to have.
Fortunately, I do not place my whole sense of identity in my possessions. Unfortunately, evidently my government does. Ah well...
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Hello from HI
So here I sit in sunny Hawaii, hunched over my recalcitrant keyboard trying to get back into blogging, all because Siri, a most respected poster from the now sadly defunct HPForums, was kind enough to remind me of life online here. Thanks, Siri! :->
My cable modem here sucks big time, but I intend to resolve that later this morning, just as soon as the local company opens and I can effect an exchange, hopefully to a superior piece of equipment... Still, I've been bubbling over with thoughts, so here we go -
The evening of July 20th I was sitting in my father's hospital room, mulling over my intended strategies for obtaining a copy of HP: DH, when an innocent, unsuspecting family friend walked in to visit Dad and let drop that there was a copy on reserve at the local bookstore. With no reservations whatsoever, I foisted myself upon my unsuspecting victim and caught a midnight ride down to the store. Foolishly, we arrived at 12:20 instead of 12:30, so I had to wait in line while the store staff worked feverishly to service the long lines of eager customers. Those of us unwilling to await midnight had the dubious pleasure of watching others more beforehand walking away with their noses in books. More disturbing, perhaps, was the sight of those driving away reading... Oh wait, that kid was riding shotgun...
Finally I had the book in my hands. Back at the hospital the Security Desk fellows gave me grief over my obsession, but I didn't care: I had the book.
Upstairs, however, Dad had his revenge. Every time I started to read, he'd call me, his auditory "call button", for help. Every time I found my place again, he'd call again. It was a long short night that left me ever so slightly exhausted and frustrated.
Fortunately, Dad proved to be exhausted, too, and slept through Sunday almost without a stir. It was a bit of a turning point for him, and once I'd had a bit of a nap, I was able to read unimpeded, finishing around 4 p.m. Sunday afternoon. I make no apologies for the delay, and I have to say, it was a great read!
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the final installment in J. K. Rowling's seven-volume epic bulding-romans, (sp?) is a satisfying fulfillment of the fifteen years of teasing and tormenting the author and we readers have enjoyed. I am, however, glad that I came in halfway through, as I don't know that I would have stayed so long, had I been there at the beginning. (Something to do with age and time of life, I think.)
Like the Israelites wandering for forty years in the wilderness, like Jesus in the desert for forty days, like Odysseus en route home for ten-and-a-half years longer than anyone else, Harry and his friends are sent on the road to finish their growth and education. It is for them what the formerly traditional world tour was intended to be for Elphias Doge and Albus Dumbledore in the previous generation: a journey physical, mental, psychological, and spiritual dimensions wherein that crossing from childhood to adulthood is effected, wherein physical demons and personal demons are encountered and, hopefully, conquered. This is, in fact, precisely what happens. Harry faces off against Nagini in the form of Bathilda Bagshot, Ron faces his greatest insecurities against the Hufflepuff Cup horcrux, and Hermione faces off against intellectual challenges, conflicting emotional loyalties and desires, and (offstage,) her own locket horcrux, appropriately enough with Ron by her side and Gryffindor's Sword in her hands. Most important, perhaps, Harry faces off against the mental link between himself and Voldemort, learning to use it and yet to block it at need. Does this latter mean that Rowling advocates the use of evil in the battle for good? Hm...
I like that Ron gets his own personal struggle, albeit offstage. He chooses recklessly, experiences immediate regret, then gets to spend a fair portion of (again appropriately) the winter months struggling to return, to regain the privileged footing he once held so lightly.
Dumbledore is tumbled from his pedestal but, like Ron, allowed a return to grace. I like the balance of perspective, the blending of humanity and fallibility and ulterior agenda with the idealism that fuels everything. The whole dead/not quite dead sequence reaffirms my earlier thought that Rowling is a 21st century Inkler, in the tradition of Tolkien and Lewis, who sought more contemporary ways to retell the tales of sacrifice and salvation rooted in Christianity and in Greco-Roman mythologies preceding it.
Dobby may not be a screen favorite, but his is a poignant storyline. Harry's manual labor on Dobby's behalf echoes of other scenes dancing just on the periphery of my memory at the moment... More later, if I remember...
I like Kreacher this time around.
Percy the Prat returns. His explanation is succinct, which is good. Such a jerk doesn't deserve a lot of page time, though I can't help but be pleased that he returns, if only to affirm Molly's and Arthur's parenting skills.
It was as sad to see Fred dead as it was funny to see George after the loss of his ear. Fred, Lupin, and Tonks all got short shrift, but that's pretty true to life, as death goes...
It was great to see the teachers finally getting to strut their magical stuff, and I do hope they get decent film time as the sequence is really more visual than verbal, but what I loved best about the Final Battle of Hogwarts was Molly, followed closely by the cameo of Neville's Grams climbing through the hole.
Gotta love Molly Weasley's battle scene with Bellatrix. We've been seeing her potential all along, and this is proof positive that there is no greater wrath than that of a mother whose offspring are being threatened, never mind scorned women. I particularly liked that Bellatrix, like Sirius before her, died as much from overconfidence and underetimating as from anything else. It seemed fitting.
Neville ascending is awesome. I particularly like the irony that Voldemort gets taken out by the one-two punch of both boys that might have fulfilled the prophecy, suggesting that he was doomed from the get-go, no matter which lad he had targeted. Neville takes out Nagini, and Harry is Voldemort's final blow. I particularly like that Harry is relatively passive, that evil is its own destroyer.
That reminds me, I like that every single horcrux is destroyed by someone different, so that no one person really deserves all the credit:
Diary = Harry
Ring = Dumbledore
Cup = Ron
Locket = Hermione
Tiara = Crabbe (the idiot)
Nagini = Neville
Harry = Tom Riddle
Note that it's all a combined effort of Gryffindors and Slytherins, the two most active Houses of Hogwarts. As Phineas Nigellus says, Slytherin does, indeed, play its part as a positive contribution to the ultimate triumph of Good over Evil.
Speaking of Slytherin, I love that I was right about Snape but hadn't figured it all out completely. I had suspected that when Petunia said, "That awful boy!" she might have been referring to Snape rather than James, though I couldn't figure out how that might have been possible. I also suspected that Snape had had a thing for Lily, as indeed, all the boys evidently did back in the day. I just wish Snape could have had more page time, but as usual, this just wasn't meant to be his story. Poor guy, always getting upstaged by Potters...
Last, but certainly not least, I want to know more about Albus Severus, who has already won me over. Curiously, the next-gen James is no more interesting to me than the original was. I wonder how she did that...
So what do you think? ;->
My cable modem here sucks big time, but I intend to resolve that later this morning, just as soon as the local company opens and I can effect an exchange, hopefully to a superior piece of equipment... Still, I've been bubbling over with thoughts, so here we go -
The evening of July 20th I was sitting in my father's hospital room, mulling over my intended strategies for obtaining a copy of HP: DH, when an innocent, unsuspecting family friend walked in to visit Dad and let drop that there was a copy on reserve at the local bookstore. With no reservations whatsoever, I foisted myself upon my unsuspecting victim and caught a midnight ride down to the store. Foolishly, we arrived at 12:20 instead of 12:30, so I had to wait in line while the store staff worked feverishly to service the long lines of eager customers. Those of us unwilling to await midnight had the dubious pleasure of watching others more beforehand walking away with their noses in books. More disturbing, perhaps, was the sight of those driving away reading... Oh wait, that kid was riding shotgun...
Finally I had the book in my hands. Back at the hospital the Security Desk fellows gave me grief over my obsession, but I didn't care: I had the book.
Upstairs, however, Dad had his revenge. Every time I started to read, he'd call me, his auditory "call button", for help. Every time I found my place again, he'd call again. It was a long short night that left me ever so slightly exhausted and frustrated.
Fortunately, Dad proved to be exhausted, too, and slept through Sunday almost without a stir. It was a bit of a turning point for him, and once I'd had a bit of a nap, I was able to read unimpeded, finishing around 4 p.m. Sunday afternoon. I make no apologies for the delay, and I have to say, it was a great read!
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the final installment in J. K. Rowling's seven-volume epic bulding-romans, (sp?) is a satisfying fulfillment of the fifteen years of teasing and tormenting the author and we readers have enjoyed. I am, however, glad that I came in halfway through, as I don't know that I would have stayed so long, had I been there at the beginning. (Something to do with age and time of life, I think.)
Like the Israelites wandering for forty years in the wilderness, like Jesus in the desert for forty days, like Odysseus en route home for ten-and-a-half years longer than anyone else, Harry and his friends are sent on the road to finish their growth and education. It is for them what the formerly traditional world tour was intended to be for Elphias Doge and Albus Dumbledore in the previous generation: a journey physical, mental, psychological, and spiritual dimensions wherein that crossing from childhood to adulthood is effected, wherein physical demons and personal demons are encountered and, hopefully, conquered. This is, in fact, precisely what happens. Harry faces off against Nagini in the form of Bathilda Bagshot, Ron faces his greatest insecurities against the Hufflepuff Cup horcrux, and Hermione faces off against intellectual challenges, conflicting emotional loyalties and desires, and (offstage,) her own locket horcrux, appropriately enough with Ron by her side and Gryffindor's Sword in her hands. Most important, perhaps, Harry faces off against the mental link between himself and Voldemort, learning to use it and yet to block it at need. Does this latter mean that Rowling advocates the use of evil in the battle for good? Hm...
I like that Ron gets his own personal struggle, albeit offstage. He chooses recklessly, experiences immediate regret, then gets to spend a fair portion of (again appropriately) the winter months struggling to return, to regain the privileged footing he once held so lightly.
Dumbledore is tumbled from his pedestal but, like Ron, allowed a return to grace. I like the balance of perspective, the blending of humanity and fallibility and ulterior agenda with the idealism that fuels everything. The whole dead/not quite dead sequence reaffirms my earlier thought that Rowling is a 21st century Inkler, in the tradition of Tolkien and Lewis, who sought more contemporary ways to retell the tales of sacrifice and salvation rooted in Christianity and in Greco-Roman mythologies preceding it.
Dobby may not be a screen favorite, but his is a poignant storyline. Harry's manual labor on Dobby's behalf echoes of other scenes dancing just on the periphery of my memory at the moment... More later, if I remember...
I like Kreacher this time around.
Percy the Prat returns. His explanation is succinct, which is good. Such a jerk doesn't deserve a lot of page time, though I can't help but be pleased that he returns, if only to affirm Molly's and Arthur's parenting skills.
It was as sad to see Fred dead as it was funny to see George after the loss of his ear. Fred, Lupin, and Tonks all got short shrift, but that's pretty true to life, as death goes...
It was great to see the teachers finally getting to strut their magical stuff, and I do hope they get decent film time as the sequence is really more visual than verbal, but what I loved best about the Final Battle of Hogwarts was Molly, followed closely by the cameo of Neville's Grams climbing through the hole.
Gotta love Molly Weasley's battle scene with Bellatrix. We've been seeing her potential all along, and this is proof positive that there is no greater wrath than that of a mother whose offspring are being threatened, never mind scorned women. I particularly liked that Bellatrix, like Sirius before her, died as much from overconfidence and underetimating as from anything else. It seemed fitting.
Neville ascending is awesome. I particularly like the irony that Voldemort gets taken out by the one-two punch of both boys that might have fulfilled the prophecy, suggesting that he was doomed from the get-go, no matter which lad he had targeted. Neville takes out Nagini, and Harry is Voldemort's final blow. I particularly like that Harry is relatively passive, that evil is its own destroyer.
That reminds me, I like that every single horcrux is destroyed by someone different, so that no one person really deserves all the credit:
Diary = Harry
Ring = Dumbledore
Cup = Ron
Locket = Hermione
Tiara = Crabbe (the idiot)
Nagini = Neville
Harry = Tom Riddle
Note that it's all a combined effort of Gryffindors and Slytherins, the two most active Houses of Hogwarts. As Phineas Nigellus says, Slytherin does, indeed, play its part as a positive contribution to the ultimate triumph of Good over Evil.
Speaking of Slytherin, I love that I was right about Snape but hadn't figured it all out completely. I had suspected that when Petunia said, "That awful boy!" she might have been referring to Snape rather than James, though I couldn't figure out how that might have been possible. I also suspected that Snape had had a thing for Lily, as indeed, all the boys evidently did back in the day. I just wish Snape could have had more page time, but as usual, this just wasn't meant to be his story. Poor guy, always getting upstaged by Potters...
Last, but certainly not least, I want to know more about Albus Severus, who has already won me over. Curiously, the next-gen James is no more interesting to me than the original was. I wonder how she did that...
So what do you think? ;->
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