I've revived my interest in Facebook, much to my dismay and have been busy catching up with all the friending and chatting and so forth. Probably good that I didn't do this before I left for Atlanta because I would have run myself ragged trying to see people.
As it was, I spent quality time with the family -- Turkey dinner was with my mother, sister, niece, and nephew. There was plenty to eat. Friday, we did go shopping but only because my mother needed a new washer. I ended up buying my sister an el cheapo DVD player because hers had died. We did buy that washer, but on Saturday. Did my mother really need to traumatize the salesperson when she responded to his comment that the washer would last 15 years with "it will probably outlast me." We are a morbid bunch.
Later that Saturday afternoon, I drove to Alabama (yes, you Northeasterners, one can enter that state and not die) for an Indian food buffet extravaganza. Michelle and her fiance, Jason, hosted. A great friend from my alma mater showed up and we ended up talking late into the night. It was soo good to see Brad. It's been years.
Sunday I drove back to Atlanta and relaxed at the homestead. I flew back this morning. I guess because of all the delays on Sunday, the plane was packed and I did not get bumped into first class (like I was on the way down -- the only way to travel!!).
Now, I must think about the last weeks of class. I am so behind. I hope everybody had a nice holiday!
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Monday, December 1, 2008
Friday, June 13, 2008
Vancouver: Too Lazy for PIcs
Well, my pictures of Vancouver are not that exciting and I don't feel like fooling with the dig cam right now. But don't worry, I'll provide some pretty pics soon enough.
The nice thing about paying a lot of money for a cruise is that they really do believe in service. No, really, they do. Nowadays everything is do-it-yourself and lots of mechanical voices asking if you absolutely must talk to a live person (as a side note, on some voice recognition systems, if you start cursing loudly, sometimes they will connect you to a living human being to whom you can curse in person. I never knew that robots could be so sensitive). But anyway, I step off the plane in Vancouver (uneventful flight. Watched 27 Dresses which was awful but took my mind off the hours of flying. I never spoke to my seatmate although we were squeezed in together because we are not small people. Then one small child, who was really good most of the flight, had to pull my hair when I was up getting something out of the overhead bin. The mother was very apologetic and she had been great about walking the child up and down the aisles. I said it was no problem. Who wouldn't want to pull my hair? The child must have thought a long-haired puppy had come on board all of sudden). But back to cruise service -- I step off the plane and there are three cruise representatives. I'm marked off their list. They wait while I smoke and then get my luggage. Then one puts me in a cab (and pays for it -- well, we had paid for it ahead of time) and then presto, I'm in a fancy hotel, just south of Stanley Park.
I wait hours and hours for my family to show up. I wish I had gone to the Vancouver Art Gallery so I could see the Krazy exhibit while I was waiting which I had to rush through the next morning.
Our hotel had a fabulous view of the harbor and I watched floatplanes take off and land. The really cool thing about the room was that you could slide open the windows on one wall so you got a kinda deck feeling. Plus there was a fainting couch where one could loll and watch the world out the window. There is not nearly enough lolling going on in one's life.
Fam finally showed up and I was happy to see them (hadn't seen them since Thanksgiving) and even though all four of us were going to be crammed in this one room, my mother thought it was funny that I said "I haven't slept well in six months. What's one more night?"). My mother has a twisted sense of humor.
Our first meal did not bode well for things to come. I took them to a place next door which I thought was "safe" but everything in the menu looked weird to them. "What's tarragon?" and "Can't I get shrimp instead of prawns?" My mother scared my niece by telling her the difference between shrimp and prawns was that prawns had their heads and the little eyes look at you from the plate, asking for mercy. I do have to admit that the food was rather bland and not up to snuff but I was already getting irritated with my American tourist family.
The next day, we decided to walk down the shopping district and at the end I would go to the museum which was only a mile away. The world, however, looks different when one is pushing a wheelchair and gentle slopes become death marches. Although the weather was cool, we were all sweating like proverbial pigs when we finally made it to the street we were looking for. The flaring tempers also did not bode well for our trip. But that's our style. Lots of angry words then food. Then the world is okay.
I finally abandoned them and went to the museum. And no, I did not just suddenly let go of my sister while going up the hill. I sped through the exhibit which I will save for a future post (or publication because I have some very strong opinions about it). Then we met for lunch and then took a guided tour of Vancouver.
My southern family was cheered by the fact that Canada had supported the South during the Civil War because they wanted all those nice raw goods picked by slaves. A little embarrassing for all involved during the tour. Okay, my family is not that bad. It was just an interesting fact and since none of them have blogs, I am free to paint them in much any light I want.
Finally that evening we went to a good and crowded fish restaurant and I had both a martini and a glass of wine. I felt good. Mom was supportive of this mood because I think she secretly thought that if she had liked alcohol, this would have been a much more pleasant trip for her.
Next blog: getting on the boat
PS: I cut my hair yesterday. Not extreme but pretty extreme. And there's no one to see it yet!!! (or those who have seen it have not commented which is distressing)
The nice thing about paying a lot of money for a cruise is that they really do believe in service. No, really, they do. Nowadays everything is do-it-yourself and lots of mechanical voices asking if you absolutely must talk to a live person (as a side note, on some voice recognition systems, if you start cursing loudly, sometimes they will connect you to a living human being to whom you can curse in person. I never knew that robots could be so sensitive). But anyway, I step off the plane in Vancouver (uneventful flight. Watched 27 Dresses which was awful but took my mind off the hours of flying. I never spoke to my seatmate although we were squeezed in together because we are not small people. Then one small child, who was really good most of the flight, had to pull my hair when I was up getting something out of the overhead bin. The mother was very apologetic and she had been great about walking the child up and down the aisles. I said it was no problem. Who wouldn't want to pull my hair? The child must have thought a long-haired puppy had come on board all of sudden). But back to cruise service -- I step off the plane and there are three cruise representatives. I'm marked off their list. They wait while I smoke and then get my luggage. Then one puts me in a cab (and pays for it -- well, we had paid for it ahead of time) and then presto, I'm in a fancy hotel, just south of Stanley Park.
I wait hours and hours for my family to show up. I wish I had gone to the Vancouver Art Gallery so I could see the Krazy exhibit while I was waiting which I had to rush through the next morning.
Our hotel had a fabulous view of the harbor and I watched floatplanes take off and land. The really cool thing about the room was that you could slide open the windows on one wall so you got a kinda deck feeling. Plus there was a fainting couch where one could loll and watch the world out the window. There is not nearly enough lolling going on in one's life.
Fam finally showed up and I was happy to see them (hadn't seen them since Thanksgiving) and even though all four of us were going to be crammed in this one room, my mother thought it was funny that I said "I haven't slept well in six months. What's one more night?"). My mother has a twisted sense of humor.
Our first meal did not bode well for things to come. I took them to a place next door which I thought was "safe" but everything in the menu looked weird to them. "What's tarragon?" and "Can't I get shrimp instead of prawns?" My mother scared my niece by telling her the difference between shrimp and prawns was that prawns had their heads and the little eyes look at you from the plate, asking for mercy. I do have to admit that the food was rather bland and not up to snuff but I was already getting irritated with my American tourist family.
The next day, we decided to walk down the shopping district and at the end I would go to the museum which was only a mile away. The world, however, looks different when one is pushing a wheelchair and gentle slopes become death marches. Although the weather was cool, we were all sweating like proverbial pigs when we finally made it to the street we were looking for. The flaring tempers also did not bode well for our trip. But that's our style. Lots of angry words then food. Then the world is okay.
I finally abandoned them and went to the museum. And no, I did not just suddenly let go of my sister while going up the hill. I sped through the exhibit which I will save for a future post (or publication because I have some very strong opinions about it). Then we met for lunch and then took a guided tour of Vancouver.
My southern family was cheered by the fact that Canada had supported the South during the Civil War because they wanted all those nice raw goods picked by slaves. A little embarrassing for all involved during the tour. Okay, my family is not that bad. It was just an interesting fact and since none of them have blogs, I am free to paint them in much any light I want.
Finally that evening we went to a good and crowded fish restaurant and I had both a martini and a glass of wine. I felt good. Mom was supportive of this mood because I think she secretly thought that if she had liked alcohol, this would have been a much more pleasant trip for her.
Next blog: getting on the boat
PS: I cut my hair yesterday. Not extreme but pretty extreme. And there's no one to see it yet!!! (or those who have seen it have not commented which is distressing)
Friday, December 14, 2007
The Seven Stages of Driving in Snow
Shock and disbelief: This can't be happening. The weather people said it wouldn't start being bad until one. Why is it snowing at 10? I've got to hurry up and get out of here.
Denial: Oh, I've given myself plenty of time to get home. This should be fine. I made sure I went to bathroom before I left. I have cigarettes and plenty of music. Maybe I can even stop and pick up something on my way home. This will be fine. I just know it.
Bargaining: To whatever superior being is up there, I will do anything you say if that big hill on Route 32 is clear and I can make it up it. Please, please, please.
Guilt: If I die on my mother's birthday (December 13) she will never forgive me.
Anger: Why the freak can't I see out my windshield! Why is the ice freezing on the wipers and now I have only a small spot I can see out of! Why are these people driving so fast! Why are they even on the road? Where's the &*%* snowplow guy??? Why didn't I leave earlier?
Depression: I'll never make it home. I will die in Franklin, CT.
Acceptance and hope: I only have control over my car. I do not control the weather. I do not control the other drivers. I will just aim for that little spot of road I can see that was left by previous drivers. At the next stoplight, I will get out and clear my windshield. I will make it home. You can do it, Wendy. Good girl.
So, it took me three hours to make it home. I left at 11:30. Stuck in traffic at the on-ramp onto 395 and sat there for forty minutes while I watched the snow pile up, knowing it would only get worse once I hit 32. I made it into my door at 2:30. The only time I got really, really stuck (not just fishtailing) was trying to get into my spot. The only car I almost hit was my neighbor's car. Fortunately, a new neighbor who was out shoveling brought some sand over and we cleared the light, fluffy snow. I made it! I'm home!!! I survived!!! I'm sure I'm not the only person who experienced this so I'm hoping everybody else made it safe and sound.
Denial: Oh, I've given myself plenty of time to get home. This should be fine. I made sure I went to bathroom before I left. I have cigarettes and plenty of music. Maybe I can even stop and pick up something on my way home. This will be fine. I just know it.
Bargaining: To whatever superior being is up there, I will do anything you say if that big hill on Route 32 is clear and I can make it up it. Please, please, please.
Guilt: If I die on my mother's birthday (December 13) she will never forgive me.
Anger: Why the freak can't I see out my windshield! Why is the ice freezing on the wipers and now I have only a small spot I can see out of! Why are these people driving so fast! Why are they even on the road? Where's the &*%* snowplow guy??? Why didn't I leave earlier?
Depression: I'll never make it home. I will die in Franklin, CT.
Acceptance and hope: I only have control over my car. I do not control the weather. I do not control the other drivers. I will just aim for that little spot of road I can see that was left by previous drivers. At the next stoplight, I will get out and clear my windshield. I will make it home. You can do it, Wendy. Good girl.
So, it took me three hours to make it home. I left at 11:30. Stuck in traffic at the on-ramp onto 395 and sat there for forty minutes while I watched the snow pile up, knowing it would only get worse once I hit 32. I made it into my door at 2:30. The only time I got really, really stuck (not just fishtailing) was trying to get into my spot. The only car I almost hit was my neighbor's car. Fortunately, a new neighbor who was out shoveling brought some sand over and we cleared the light, fluffy snow. I made it! I'm home!!! I survived!!! I'm sure I'm not the only person who experienced this so I'm hoping everybody else made it safe and sound.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Fun with Grading/Saving the Writing Soul
The title is a misnomer since the last thing I want to do is talk about grading. There is just far too much of it this time of year. I was hurriedly finishing one set of exams just so I can be prepared for the research papers tomorrow. I just know that some of them will break my heart. It makes me feel like that with one more week or one more session or one five minute discussion, I could save their writing soul. But I'm preaching to the choir, right? I do have some literature that I could pass out.
Speaking of writing, I helped my niece write her paper on Macbeth last week. Of course "help" is relative since all I did was ask her helpful, guiding questions. I related this story to my students, and they were outraged. "couldn't you just tell her the answer!" they cried. Alas, no. Still, I was heartened that my niece did seem to understand the play. We take solace from where we can find it.
Yet another point about writing -- I had my interview with the DH editor, who has been in the business for a long time and was quite a talker. The discussion did descend, at times, into fan talk, and I definitely got the picture that he was used to speaking to fan culture (for instance, I had read some of these quotes before -- gasp! not like we don't repeat ourselves, yes?). I think I got some good stuff and some good directions for the essay. Although I started with a disclaimer ("I'm just simple manga farmer from the sticks"), my prep for the interview helped. He seemed a bit abashed that I knew of some of the manga magazines that he had worked on and that had not lasted very long. He was also extremely helpful in explaining some misconceptions I had about the business. Now, I really need to research.
Speaking of writing, I helped my niece write her paper on Macbeth last week. Of course "help" is relative since all I did was ask her helpful, guiding questions. I related this story to my students, and they were outraged. "couldn't you just tell her the answer!" they cried. Alas, no. Still, I was heartened that my niece did seem to understand the play. We take solace from where we can find it.
Yet another point about writing -- I had my interview with the DH editor, who has been in the business for a long time and was quite a talker. The discussion did descend, at times, into fan talk, and I definitely got the picture that he was used to speaking to fan culture (for instance, I had read some of these quotes before -- gasp! not like we don't repeat ourselves, yes?). I think I got some good stuff and some good directions for the essay. Although I started with a disclaimer ("I'm just simple manga farmer from the sticks"), my prep for the interview helped. He seemed a bit abashed that I knew of some of the manga magazines that he had worked on and that had not lasted very long. He was also extremely helpful in explaining some misconceptions I had about the business. Now, I really need to research.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
The Mad Rush....
See, this is what I was afraid of while writing a blog. I spend half my time apologizing for not writing. Yes, yes, I know. Fifty lashes with a wet noodle and now I am done with that.
I had a nice trip to Turkey Atlanta. The Logan airport was eerily sedate when I arrived there Wednesday morning. I walked right through security (lucky, they didn't see me!). The flight was also easy with the only empty seat on the plane between me and the guy on the exit row. Nice snooze time (how I envy the QOE's ability to sleep anywhere. My mother can do that too. How do you do it??) My mother picked me up at the busiest airport in the world, complaining about all the amateurs who only go there once a year. We got all our fighting done in the car ride home and were able to sublimate any feelings with food. She baked a coconut cake and an apple pie. Tons of homemade dressing and she went on a challah baking binge after taking a class (loaves of challah, challah rolls, she even made cinnamon rolls out of challah). Then on Friday we had birthday cake for my sister. I am still full.
My sister and her kids came over for Thanksgiving and afterwards we played some cards (and fought some more -- apparently neither my sister nor my niece know how to bid correctly). Then, since there was a "thanks for the movies" marathon on some channel (TCM? AMC?) we watched Rear Window and then Psycho, classic holiday fare, nu? My mother had actually seen all of Hitchcock's movies in the theatre and she was cleaning up and trying to get out of the room before the shower scene. I can only imagine what it had been like to see that for the first time in 1960. I also don't know why after watching Rear Window that I am always surprised how wonderfully sick Hitchcock is. It's like watching Freud on screen.
Friday, the kids stayed over and we had the aforementioned birthday and then went to the movies. Everybody wanted to see something different but I bullied everybody into seeing something I thought everybody would enjoy -- the Bee Movie.
It was okay.
Too bad the kids had already seen Beowulf with my sister (who did not enjoy it at all), but my nephew could not wrap his mind around the fact that Beowulf was a long poem. He didn't believe me. Guess what he's getting for Christmas??? (he's thirteen now and TALLER than me? My poor niece is the shortest one in the family, still holding out hope at seventeen that she will have a growth spurt -- poor dear).
Saturday, I went out with friends to Dave and Busters and even though it was crazy busy with people sick of their own families, we managed to have a good time. How can you not with a well-stocked bar in the middle of an arcade? (There's one in Providence, I believe; anyone up for a road trip?)
I returned Monday night into a warm, foggy night in Boston. Thank goodness that I had an aisle seat because it was one of those flights where you don't see the ground until you've touched down. I finally made it home to kitty snuggling. Pumpkin was so happy to see me that she nearly rolled off the couch. I had to catch her.
Then the mad dash of school. Just work, work, work. You know how it is when the students look like they are barely hanging on and need to talk? Well, that's what I have been doing instead of blogging.
This past Friday night, I led services at the synagogue. Our rabbi has been on sabbatical and the lunatics are running the insane asylum. QOE and Johnny 10x showed up (thanks!!!) and we went out for a nightcap afterwards. Faye showed up and brought a person I hadn't seen in a long time -- what a nice surprise. Things went smoothly. I only skipped one part of the service by accident (you know, the eucharist -- no, really, some other small part which bummed me because I had practiced it that day). And I gave a sermon -- pretty neat, right? And it was all academic and stuff since my medieval training led me to look at the "original." And students look at me like I'm crazy when I ask them to write five pages. Hey, I just wrote a couple pages on ONE word -- gosh I'm cool.
The title of this blog is very correct since I, indeed, have written this in a mad rush.
I had a nice trip to Turkey Atlanta. The Logan airport was eerily sedate when I arrived there Wednesday morning. I walked right through security (lucky, they didn't see me!). The flight was also easy with the only empty seat on the plane between me and the guy on the exit row. Nice snooze time (how I envy the QOE's ability to sleep anywhere. My mother can do that too. How do you do it??) My mother picked me up at the busiest airport in the world, complaining about all the amateurs who only go there once a year. We got all our fighting done in the car ride home and were able to sublimate any feelings with food. She baked a coconut cake and an apple pie. Tons of homemade dressing and she went on a challah baking binge after taking a class (loaves of challah, challah rolls, she even made cinnamon rolls out of challah). Then on Friday we had birthday cake for my sister. I am still full.
My sister and her kids came over for Thanksgiving and afterwards we played some cards (and fought some more -- apparently neither my sister nor my niece know how to bid correctly). Then, since there was a "thanks for the movies" marathon on some channel (TCM? AMC?) we watched Rear Window and then Psycho, classic holiday fare, nu? My mother had actually seen all of Hitchcock's movies in the theatre and she was cleaning up and trying to get out of the room before the shower scene. I can only imagine what it had been like to see that for the first time in 1960. I also don't know why after watching Rear Window that I am always surprised how wonderfully sick Hitchcock is. It's like watching Freud on screen.
Friday, the kids stayed over and we had the aforementioned birthday and then went to the movies. Everybody wanted to see something different but I bullied everybody into seeing something I thought everybody would enjoy -- the Bee Movie.
It was okay.
Too bad the kids had already seen Beowulf with my sister (who did not enjoy it at all), but my nephew could not wrap his mind around the fact that Beowulf was a long poem. He didn't believe me. Guess what he's getting for Christmas??? (he's thirteen now and TALLER than me? My poor niece is the shortest one in the family, still holding out hope at seventeen that she will have a growth spurt -- poor dear).
Saturday, I went out with friends to Dave and Busters and even though it was crazy busy with people sick of their own families, we managed to have a good time. How can you not with a well-stocked bar in the middle of an arcade? (There's one in Providence, I believe; anyone up for a road trip?)
I returned Monday night into a warm, foggy night in Boston. Thank goodness that I had an aisle seat because it was one of those flights where you don't see the ground until you've touched down. I finally made it home to kitty snuggling. Pumpkin was so happy to see me that she nearly rolled off the couch. I had to catch her.
Then the mad dash of school. Just work, work, work. You know how it is when the students look like they are barely hanging on and need to talk? Well, that's what I have been doing instead of blogging.
This past Friday night, I led services at the synagogue. Our rabbi has been on sabbatical and the lunatics are running the insane asylum. QOE and Johnny 10x showed up (thanks!!!) and we went out for a nightcap afterwards. Faye showed up and brought a person I hadn't seen in a long time -- what a nice surprise. Things went smoothly. I only skipped one part of the service by accident (you know, the eucharist -- no, really, some other small part which bummed me because I had practiced it that day). And I gave a sermon -- pretty neat, right? And it was all academic and stuff since my medieval training led me to look at the "original." And students look at me like I'm crazy when I ask them to write five pages. Hey, I just wrote a couple pages on ONE word -- gosh I'm cool.
The title of this blog is very correct since I, indeed, have written this in a mad rush.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Yikes, I haven't been posting
...and I really should be in bed. But what the hey, I'll be home for the holiday soon and won't be able to post from there. Did you catch the Simpsons comix extravaganza this past Sunday? Fortuitously, I tuned in and caught it. Had some amusing moments although surely they could have come up with better lines for Art Spiegelman, right? Kate did point out that Alan Moore singing to his Little Lulu comic was definitely worth the price of admission.
Another amusing thing for you as you waste time at work or at home: if you remember the "Land of the Lost" and ever been in a library, check this youtube video out. It's nine seconds of silliness that made me laugh out loud.
So, I leave for home on Wednesday. My sister's birthday always falls around Thanksgiving and I finally realized the absurdity of having a full (and I mean FULL) meal and then having birthday cake. How is this possible or normal? Fortunately, I have her gift ready to go.
Happy Thanksgiving you turkeys....gobble gobble
Another amusing thing for you as you waste time at work or at home: if you remember the "Land of the Lost" and ever been in a library, check this youtube video out. It's nine seconds of silliness that made me laugh out loud.
So, I leave for home on Wednesday. My sister's birthday always falls around Thanksgiving and I finally realized the absurdity of having a full (and I mean FULL) meal and then having birthday cake. How is this possible or normal? Fortunately, I have her gift ready to go.
Happy Thanksgiving you turkeys....gobble gobble
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Catching Up
So, my friend's father passed away peacefully last Thursday night. He was just a few days short of his 92nd birthday. We should all be so fortunate to live not only as long but to be as independent as he was until the end. The memorial service is next Thursday, and I will arrange for someone to cover my afternoon class so I can attend. There's more family drama but I'd rather not write about that. I'm trying to be helpful but distant.
I'm watching the Red Sox/Indians game tonight (looks like the Sox will have won by the time you read this post). I really like having baseball on while I'm multi-tasking (made some phone calls, wrote some bills, now blogging) because I grew up listening to it on the radio. It's rather soothing, especially when it's not your team clinging to life in Game 7. Though I am a die-hard Braves fan, the Sox are my adopted team. Living in Connecticut is weird since there is no national team but rather is split down the middle between Yankees and Sox fans (and the occasional weird Mets fan). I've been to Fenway a few times (when the Braves were in town) and enjoyed it. It's the only park I've been to besides the ones in Atlanta (Altanta-Fulton County Stadium and then Turner Field).
My mother has turned into an obsessive baseball watcher. She's been glued to the TV watching all the playoffs and got really, really irritated with me when we discovered that I had a thirty second lead on what was going on. (Me: "Oh, he just struck out" HER: "WHAT?") For some reason, her broadcast was being delayed. My sister also watches it. It's a safe subject that all of us can talk about.
I'm watching the Red Sox/Indians game tonight (looks like the Sox will have won by the time you read this post). I really like having baseball on while I'm multi-tasking (made some phone calls, wrote some bills, now blogging) because I grew up listening to it on the radio. It's rather soothing, especially when it's not your team clinging to life in Game 7. Though I am a die-hard Braves fan, the Sox are my adopted team. Living in Connecticut is weird since there is no national team but rather is split down the middle between Yankees and Sox fans (and the occasional weird Mets fan). I've been to Fenway a few times (when the Braves were in town) and enjoyed it. It's the only park I've been to besides the ones in Atlanta (Altanta-Fulton County Stadium and then Turner Field).
My mother has turned into an obsessive baseball watcher. She's been glued to the TV watching all the playoffs and got really, really irritated with me when we discovered that I had a thirty second lead on what was going on. (Me: "Oh, he just struck out" HER: "WHAT?") For some reason, her broadcast was being delayed. My sister also watches it. It's a safe subject that all of us can talk about.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Hell of a Weekend
As my faithful readers (hello? anybody out there? Mrs. Pommelhorse...) already know about the incident with Rocky, the flying squirrel, a couple weekends ago, I have more life and death issues to write about. Most of you don't know about this side job I have but I have been working for about four years for this woman and her father, and I have gotten to know them fairly well.
Three months ago, the father passed out in his basement and lay there for a day until he was found. He was rushed to the hospital and thankfully recovered. The doctor ix-nayed the driving so sometimes I would do errands for him and take him to his office, etc (he's a retired UConn prof -- in his nineties but he still works everyday). Well, Saturday, as my friend was working with the pest control people to get the damn squirrels out of the house (some met a rather disturbing end in a toilet), she finds her father unconscious in a chair. They call 911 and the speedy paramedics revive him and rush him to the hospital. She calls me and I take her there. He's not doing well and the outlook is grim. I meet the rest of the family, who, though I never met them, all know who I am. I spend three hours there and I offer to take her the next day to get the living will which is at her house across the state.
On Sunday as I prepare to pick her up, my cell phone rings -- which is weird, because I never leave it on but apparently I had from the previous night. It's the granddaughter (my friend's niece) and she impresses upon me that they really need to get a hold of her aunt because there are "decisions that need to be made" and then she says "Grandad always told us that we could count on you" to help her and to help the family. Okay, dying man's wishes...gotcha. I don't remember much of the drive over.
Finally get a hold of my friend, and I call the granddaughter. My friend is too upset to articulate her decision although she makes it clear what she wants to say. So, I tell her brother what she wants and then hand the phone over to her for a confirmation "yes." We then go to the hospital and wait for the doctor. The father was "clinically dead" for too long, and he has extensive brain damage. It's only a matter of time.
I go in to ICU. I call his name and tell him "It's Wendy" and then I say that "I'm taking care" of his daughter. I know he is in a coma and can't respond and that any reaction would be just the body doing what the body does, but I swear to God a tear fell from his eye and fell down his cheek.
I wish him nothing but comfort at this point. He had such a fascinating and sharp mind. He would always note if something about my school would come up in the paper, and we would talk about it. He told me stories about driving to San Francisco in the thirties (the Golden Gate bridge was newly built then, in 1937). He went to the Chicago World's Fair in 1933. He was always sweet man to me and lived a long, healthy life. I am so glad that I could have helped out in the small way that I did.
Today is also the fifth anniversary of my father's death, and I'm remembering good things.
Three months ago, the father passed out in his basement and lay there for a day until he was found. He was rushed to the hospital and thankfully recovered. The doctor ix-nayed the driving so sometimes I would do errands for him and take him to his office, etc (he's a retired UConn prof -- in his nineties but he still works everyday). Well, Saturday, as my friend was working with the pest control people to get the damn squirrels out of the house (some met a rather disturbing end in a toilet), she finds her father unconscious in a chair. They call 911 and the speedy paramedics revive him and rush him to the hospital. She calls me and I take her there. He's not doing well and the outlook is grim. I meet the rest of the family, who, though I never met them, all know who I am. I spend three hours there and I offer to take her the next day to get the living will which is at her house across the state.
On Sunday as I prepare to pick her up, my cell phone rings -- which is weird, because I never leave it on but apparently I had from the previous night. It's the granddaughter (my friend's niece) and she impresses upon me that they really need to get a hold of her aunt because there are "decisions that need to be made" and then she says "Grandad always told us that we could count on you" to help her and to help the family. Okay, dying man's wishes...gotcha. I don't remember much of the drive over.
Finally get a hold of my friend, and I call the granddaughter. My friend is too upset to articulate her decision although she makes it clear what she wants to say. So, I tell her brother what she wants and then hand the phone over to her for a confirmation "yes." We then go to the hospital and wait for the doctor. The father was "clinically dead" for too long, and he has extensive brain damage. It's only a matter of time.
I go in to ICU. I call his name and tell him "It's Wendy" and then I say that "I'm taking care" of his daughter. I know he is in a coma and can't respond and that any reaction would be just the body doing what the body does, but I swear to God a tear fell from his eye and fell down his cheek.
I wish him nothing but comfort at this point. He had such a fascinating and sharp mind. He would always note if something about my school would come up in the paper, and we would talk about it. He told me stories about driving to San Francisco in the thirties (the Golden Gate bridge was newly built then, in 1937). He went to the Chicago World's Fair in 1933. He was always sweet man to me and lived a long, healthy life. I am so glad that I could have helped out in the small way that I did.
Today is also the fifth anniversary of my father's death, and I'm remembering good things.
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