"It is the pushy one"

Back to the ornery gents house again.
Twice even.
Morning care and noontime catheter care.

He is failing but true to form, on his own terms.
He told me:
'I'll be damned if I die while they are here, the vultures. They can't wait.'

His theory is that their special leave will run out before his willpower.

I came in the morning and the collection of clock-watchers were at the Kitchen table drinking coffee.

The daughter stood up, looked down at me and said: 'And you are...?'

'I was here yesterday. You met me then. I am your father's regular person 5 days a week.'

I kept going down the hall to where he was.

I heard her say: 'Oh God, it's the pushy one. Who does she think she is?'

I just couldnt resist. I turned around and went back in the kitchen.
I looked at her and she said 'Yes?'

'I thought I spoke clearly. I am your father's regular person 5 days a week.'

'What? What the hell? What do you want?'

'You wanted to know who I think I am? Your Father's regular 5 day a week person. '

And I went down to her dad.

I could hear her muttering.

He was smiling. He grabbed my arm.
'Ya done good Kid. Giver hell.'

When I came back at lunch time she was nowhere to be seen.
The rest of them scattered.

I am not sure he can outlast these people.
But I am sure he will give it a good shot.
I think we will put overnight respite care in there.
Maybe that will hurry them home.

Lest you think me heartless, I am there for my client.
It is my client's home. I respect my client's wishes.
Everything else is none of my concern.

Jackie on the Second Floor

This rotation, I found my schedule full of changes. My co-workers also noticed many changes in their routes too. I like these changes as the mileage is not as crushing to my pocketbook.
The price of gas is so high today I refused to gas up, choosing only to get $10 worth at a time.

Many of our clients live in Care-a-minimums. The swankiest one of all is in my area and today I was back there for a new (to me) person. The suite was on the lowest floor facing west and altho it is protected somewhat by lowlying shrubberies, it still gets very hot in there. The client had 3 air conditioning units ready to be turned on when the day's heat settled upon her.

We were chit-chatting, getting to know one another. I asked about a few people I had known who had lived in the building. I asked in particular about Jackie on the second floor.
'Oh she has been gone for over a year now.'

'Oh they moved her to ____ lodge and she died just shortly after that.'

Probably of a broken heart.

Jackie used to tell me how grateful she was that her children had not farmed her out to a Lodge. She had enough money that she probably could have had a live-in companion, but she wanted to keep something for the kids, she said.

She was an incorrigible smoker and loved her gin and tonic.
I never finked her out but someone else did.
God forbid that you live to 88 and own your own place have money in the bank and, horror of horrors, choose to have a drink or three.

In Care-a-miniums, if you do not blend in well, you are in big trouble.
Jackie got in trouble.

Sorry Jackie old girl.
I never thought you would end that way and I wish I had known so I could have been there for you. Only a few blocks from my place, I could have sprung you out every now and then.
For gin.





He is an ornery fellow. He has been in tremendous pain for a few years and the ever increasing dosages of morphine have not contained it. He tries to be pleasant.
It is the Gentleman gene in him.

He is always telling me how people today have *no time* for anything.
I agree, of course.
The people he is refering to are his family.
They live close enough to come visit but they rarely do.
His wife is long dead. His children and grandchildren and even great grandchildren call and promise to visit at least once a month but it rarely happens and when they do come they stay for an hour or so.

He hates the idea of being feeble. He hates that someone has to wash him and wipe him.
It was not too bad when he could bear the shower but now that he is bedbound it is tough.

Hospice dropped off a bed and plopped it in his living room.
Now there are daughters and sons and in laws and outlaws everywhere these days.
They came when word got out he was in bed.

I come in, same as always and am screened by one of them.
I get a few thousand instructions and I nod politely and walk on in.
Before I can get to the Living Room another one has blocked my path to begin another recitation about what MUST be done and HOW. I nod again and keep going.

At the bedside I pull up a stool and lean in to say hello.
The family are already coo-cooing about being too loud and too much.
He looks at me and rolls his eyes. The daughter catches the movement and squeals.
"Oh he is in so much pain. This is awful. You shouldn't be leaning over him like that."

He looks at me and tries to say something.
The Daughter shoves her way past me and says:
"Yes dad? Yes? What is it Dad?"
He pulls himself up on one elbow; a heroic gesture.
He rasps: "Get the HELL out. All of ya."
She turns and smirks at me.
"You'll have to leave. Dad can't take all this."
The bed shakes and he practically spits the words:

I close off the room and do my thing and we talk a little bit in voices low so they cannot hear.
I gather my supplies up and leave, giving him a little hug.
I walk back out the way I came in. No roadblocks this time.
They are out on the porch smoking.

I say goodbye and get in my car and leave.

Wish I could tell you this was unusual.

~* long long day

Whether circumstance or change in barometric pressure, sleep has not come easily for me these last days. Nor my clientelle.

Yesterday I awakened 15 minutes *after* I was to be at my first appointment.
I was almost completely useless all day long.
The job got done and I did it well. I felt horrid but I did it well.
Today, my day began better as I woke up in time. Still, an easy few hours more would have been welcome. I was more productive than yesterday, but at great cost.

Thinking I could come home to a nap, I finished up my last work, going 25 minutes overttime (freebie) and came home, visions of soft pillows and nappiboos in my mind.
I had 3 messages, each more forceful than the last, directing me to act immediatly on my parent's behalf to do blah blah blah. Not what I wanted to come home to.

I know my limits. I need my breaks. This would be why I work the short shift.
I run out of energy when I am emotionally exhausted.
Things injust and things done badly take my energy.
I like things done to the best of the doers ability. After all we deal in people, not potatoes.

Planning a nice bath and a long snooze, I decided to ignore the messages.
Stupidly, I answered the telephone when it rang.
So: I wound up at the family corral, doing things and expending energies I didn't have.
And now, at last, it is time for bed.




--and the day after Company comes

Today my Gourmet Cook Client was very tired.
Company had worn her out. It was a good sort of feeling for her; the sort of tired you get when you have accomplished much after hard work.

I came at lunchtime and she had already eaten.
She wanted a piece of cake but only if I would take a piece too.
So we had coffee and cake.

She had a card out for the memorial service of a friend.
"I cannot remember how to spell his name."
I would have helped but it was a Scandinavian name I could not even pronouce.

"Don't worry," she said. "My friend is coming to pick up the card. She will know."

The telephone rang and a moment later the doorbell.
She got the telephone and I opened the door.
A beautifully dressed woman stood there expectantly.
My client was trying to finish up on the call.

I said (most unhelpfully) "She cannot remember how to spell the gentlemans name. Could you write it down and I will pass it over to her?"

Mrs. Nicely dressed got a not so nice look on her face.
She glared at me and said: "I dont have time for this."
The card was out and open.
"Just write the name down and she can sign it." I said.
More unpleasant looks.

She stamped her foot; her beautifully shoed foot and looked across to the chair where my client had just finished her call.

"I have to go I cannot wait for this."
From the chair my client said: "It won't take more than a moment."
But the 'Lady' was already out the door and gone.

My lovely client who IS a Lady in every way had a tear running down her face.
I felt my own eyes narrowing.
"She wasn't one of those people you cooked for yesterday was she?"

"Yes. Yes she was. And it will be a long time before I cook for her again."

What a hag.... on her way to another city for the Memorial, has time to stop in and be rude but not time to wait to make a shut-in (whose hospitality she so freely took) feel included in the ceremony of remembrance for their mutual friend. I did not really want my client feeling sad so I said:
"Maybe its the grief. Maybe she is struggling with her emotions. Maybe that is why she rushed out."

"No that is not it. She is just being rude. She did not know him well at all. I knew the gentleman ALOT better than she did." She said.

I was really annoyed on her behalf.

"She is lucky I am on the Company Dime." I said
"If I was here as a guest I would have shut the front door and MADE her wait."
My client laughed.

I would have done more than just shut the door.
I would have taken her into the bathroom and turned on the fan and given her a lesson on manners. She _could_ wait 1 minute.
But ah well....

Honey, Karma gonna getcha.

What makes people behave so badly?


Company for Lunch

The lovely Lady I go so often to gets lunch visits.
This visit is to help prep and serve a lunch to her. She eats her main meal at noon.
The Worker is then to prep a small dinner.

I was there when she was being reassessed. The Intake Nurse was told by the family member present: "Mom is a gourmet cook."
---and she sure is!

Yesterday my Client had the urge to entertain and had invited some friends for Luncheon. A late luncheon. She had small white potatoes scrubbed and ready to go. She had white pickled onions which she was draining. She fried a cup of sugar until it caramelised and then added the onions and browned them slowly. She had cooked some red cabbage shredded... in a sauce of vinegar and a secret ingredient. She had tender baby asparagus and fresh green beans. She had a beautiful pork roast a huge cut all criss cross cut and marinated.

There was a cake sitting on the sideboard. The table was set.
I was not really hugely helpful but I did move some furniture around that the company didnt need to see in the living room. We were chatting away and I saw on her careplan the following sentence:
"Likes to help in the kitchen."

I read it out loud to her and we both laughed for about 5 minutes.
hee hee
A bit of distance between gourmet cookery and scullery maidery.

A Perk

It is a tough job being a consumer but someone has to do it!
One of the things I consume best is TIME.
Alot of my time over the years has been spent in *The Chair.*
My Dental practitioners know me by sight. Is that good?
Well it surely is for me!

Although I took good care of my teeth, I was not blessed with strong ones.
Nor was I helped along the way by accidents involving blows to the head and/or mouth.
I am well acquainted with Dentists in all corners of my Province.
Lots and lots of work done on this mouth and mostly just in aid of not having black holes.
I have been blessed with great Dentists. And they have been blessed with me. (!!)
My current Dentist here in Paradise is young and gorgeous. I wont be telling you his last name but suffice to say the blue hairs and the teeniebopper clients swoon into the chair. He has a perfectly wonderful girlfriend and is happily in love so it is good.

---and even if it wasn't! Damn he is easy on the eyes.
And WHAT a nice man!

Dr L. was a member of the Dentists without Borders thingee and goes yearly to give freely of his time and talents in South America. Class act!

Today I was waiting in the outer room and spied a Calvin and Hobbes book.
(another reason to love Dr. Louis)
I took it with me into the chair and was chortling merrily away.

Calvin says to his Mother:
" I am collecting all my snot to donate to the Hospital for mucus transplants."


Makes you wonder what Bill Watterson was like as a boy.
His poor mom.

hee hee

yup thats it.
That is the whole reason for this post.

must be the moons' fault (romantic song)

I love this song.
I think it is my favourite of all time in the romance department.
God bless Harry Nilsson.
Like all the best artists a completely fucked up Human being at points in his life.
Nilsson lobbied for Gun Control after Lennon was shot dead; something I admire him for greatly. Must be hard to be against one of the biggees when you are an American!

My cool romantic genius writer au jour: hope heaven is easier for you than this earth was.

All I Think About Is You by Harry Nilsson

How can I run away from darkness at
the close of day
When all I think about is you
Not knowing where I'm going
What am I to do
When all I think about is you
I'll stand an hour knocking
Knowing that my heart is mocking me
She doesn't live here anymore
I don't know why I bother
What else can I do
When all I think about is you
Dream maker, heartbraker
How can dreams come true
When all I dream about is you
I'll stand an hour knocking
Knowing that my heart is mocking me
She doesn't live here anymore
How can I run away from darkness at the close of day
When all I think about is you
Not knowing where I'm going
What am I to do
When all I think about is you
I don't know why I bother
What else can i do
When all I think about is you


The Mediation (from Shin Tai Do)

Something Alien said in a comment reminded me of this meditation.
I still use it at the beach.
There are movements that go with it. But barring an ascii art attack I shan't include them.


I remember the place before I am born.

And now I am born.

I gather information from the world,

And put it in a basket over my head.

I cut a place for myself in this world.

I go out to my edges,

And return to my centre.

I put my vision out into the world.

I let go of the results,

and offer it all back.

I return to the place before I am born.

Another brilliant plan comes to fruition

Having spent my last years income tax refund on the best desktop computer I could afford, I then surrounded myself with peripheral devices. After all, this *is* my hobby; the means by which I retain my sanity. Right? Right! My bigtime 2003-4 computer cost me into the thousands. I did not mind one bit whit or jot!

Early in 2005, when spousal abuse among the Elderly in my family became a huge issue, it was clear that living arrangements had to be made and quickly for our Patriarch. Since stairs are a problem, moving in with me was (thankfully) not possible. The place we ended up getting was and is a very wonderful place to live. The one stickler was, there was no furniture in it. Now hanging out in a spacious spot is cool but everyone needs to sit down sometimes.
So I engaged my shopping on the cheap gene, and got to work. It looks pretty darned nice in there.

Believe it or not, our Patriarch was pouting over leaving his computer (bought 2 years before) at the home front EVEN THOUGH he never actually uses the darned thing. It was such a silly point to be stuck on so I decided to get him a machine that was suited to his needs. I got an Aptiva for $5 and installed a clean version of WIN98, and asked him to buy more RAM for it.
He did. And promptly decided it was a piece of crap. Now remember, we are talking about someone who uses the computer as a slide show only. My pictures screensaver is the big deal.

This was so ridiculous that in a moment of madness I said TAKE MINE and installed my beloved at it's new address. And the Aptiva? It is mine, baby. *crash*

I do not mind this little machine although Win98SE is an unhappy OS.
What I do mind is the way my system settings get arbitrarly overwritten in updates.
Suddenly, my USB ports no longer work.
Suddenly, I cannot plug in my Digicam.
Suddenly, my webcam is not recognised.
Suddenly, my flash drive does not show up as a harddrive.

I got so frustrated, especially since last week the other machine became a worm farm and required an unseemly amount of hours to decontaminate. (!!!)

God Bless my dear friends all over the world.
This week it was Aylen's turn to hold my hand and try to convince me how to work my magic over device driver. Apparantly I do not HAVE any magicks. *sulk*

I decided all on my own that since the big error revolved around the VMM32.VXD file it obviously should be moved from system32 to system. Hey at least I did not delete it.
All went well until my next crash.

Aptiva crashes about 4 times per day. On a good day.
Imagine my horror when the system displayed the dreaded "VMM32.VXD is required to load windows. If this file is not in your path you may need to reinstall Windows."

After a few loud shouts of *buggerbuggerbugger* and *bullockybuggerybuggerbugger* I rummaged about for the boot disk. No boot disk. No buggery boot disk buggerbuggerit.

Plan B was get the CD and boot from it.
No bullockybuggery CD anywhere to be found.

Plan C was get one of my dinosaur backup computers out and make a Boot Disk.
Great until the "insert Windows98SE in your CD drive."
Bugger turned to shit turned to fuck and worse. Oh yes, I can wield that Anglo Saxon with my wicked tongue, yes, yes I can.

Believe it or not even Plan D failed. The old computers do not HAVE the VMM32.VDX file on them. Or VMM32.VXD for that matter. They are not 98SE. (scream)

So tonight Plan 9 from Outer Space.
I actually remembered DOS.

Yes yes I did so!
CD windows
CD System32
CD Drivers
copy VMM32.VXD C:\windows\system

*cheer cheer cheer

Ok so it doesn't sound like much.
But oh baby HOW I am smiling.
I love myself today!!


--attribute this to that silly need to crow


When I'm alone in my head

My eyes shut easily and happily.
The deep sleep came very quickly upon me.
The dreaming came too.

It is so vivid and real I am not sure it isnt a memory.
All the familiar elements are in it. Staircases and elevators, hotels and neighbourhoods I know.
A mall, the big mall where I am dream-shopping for something.
Wrong corridor, wrong street, wrong turn.... something always messes up.
I avoid the elevator instinctively knowing it will not go anyplace I want to be.

Mom is here this time but she is not talking to me.
Mom just floats in and out of the sequences. She is transparent AND transluscent.
Her hair is black so she is from my little years and yes, she is even wearing fortrel.

Although I am asleep, I know I am asleep. The sleep me realises this is but a shade of Mom and not the real Mom. This makes me sad.

I want to talk to her.
I want to tell her to visit my sister in her dreams and straighten her out.
Her shade looks right at me and smiles, not going anywhere.

I think about the wind on the pier tonight when I picked up my parent from the ferry.
I am there in a trice. It is only a question of seconds before I wake up.
I am too aware of my dreaming.

Instead I seem to lose my self-awareness and float into a series of dreams that rush me along life. The Ocean watches it all. Dancing waves laughing at this meandering spirit so obviously lost. Noone will tell me the secret but I know that it is in me too. If only I can remember.

Suddenly I know it.
I want to shout it out the profound thing I know.

" Wake up! You are shouting in your sleep again! WAKE UP!!"

What was I shouting I ask.

"Something in Latin I think."

You sure it wasnt just gibberish?

"Well maybe but you did shout PERCEIVE a few times."

Now I dont want to go back to sleep not really.
I am still sleepwalking and still sleep shouting and still waking up all sorts of people.
And what was the profound knowledge I *perceived*?

NO idea. BAH.


Beachfront Bliss

Finishing my shift, I drive along the oceanfront highway through little towns on my way home.
The water is so beautiful today, and the tide is high. I decide to pull in and watch for awhile.
I sit in my jazzy car blissing out. My eyes are closing.
*tap tap*

I look around.
'Good Morning! If you wanted to visit you only had to say so.'

Realising I am near to an old friends I wonder in that moment if I am awake or if I am slipping into a dream.
' Wake up!'

Now I am wide awake. Where did I pull into? Did I do this subconsciously or am I pulling in stuff from the ether. I know this little spot. Lifestyles of the richer than I'll ever be.
There is the Casa Mia beside me and my old friend before me. I am right outside his grounds.
Do I look like a stalker? He is looking in my window at me, puzzled.
' What are you doing? Wake up!'

'Sorry, really, I just wanted to watch the waves.'

He looks in the window at me. A sad look.
'I miss you an awful lot. I never see you. But I heard you have a boyfriend now.'

I am still half asleep and still wondering if I am going to wake up.

My old friend is a man I once dated for a short time.
He is almost 14 yrs older than I am.
He still works, in his consultancy, has no kids and two ex-wives. He is alot of fun, and a very agreeable companion and was thrilled to accompany me to events. This was tempered by his need to show off. I liked him right enough, but I did not like being a possession; being touted out for his old buddies. A big part of the relationship for him was to adorn me so others might adore me. He would tell me how I have the best personality of any woman (in a long long line of women) he ever met and by the way am I ever sexy. Flattering... but...

I never quite believed it was sustainable and so I did date him.
But not for long.
Being around obscenely rich people was fine.
What was not fine was that constant assessment.
He used to say to me: ' God they all want you. You're killing them.'

He actually cried when I told him I could not see myself in the role of girlfriend nor mistress nor wife nor anything really except past possible paramour.

'You are fond of me, I know that. In time that will grow to more.'
---- not good enough.

'Life can be made very easy for you.'
yeah yeah

'We could have a wonderful life.'
I already do.

'You would never have to work again.'
I love working.

'I could secure your future in case I went quickly.'
It is not this world I worry about.

So there he is knocking on my window.
'Good Morning! Wake up!'

I sit up and realise my motor is running and my windows are shut.
There is noone there. I really was asleep.
I shut the car off and get out. I have an amazing headache.
I walk down to the shoreline and stare out to the Islands.
My head is throbbing. I feel very strange. What made me pull in here of all places?

I walk back to my car slowly.
There he is.
Just walking along the Highway home. He has his dogs with him.

They recognise me before he does. He looks great, in walking shorts and a white T.
His hair is almost completely silver now and it looks great.
He is looking over at me ,looking over at him and then suddenly it clicks.

He does a little jig, he shouts and runs over.

'Jeez, this is so weird. I was just thinking about you! You have been on my mind all morning. How are you?'

I cant answer. He doesn't seem to mind and continues on.

'Heard you are seeing some guy. What does he have that I dont?'
He pretends to be kidding.

I burst into tears and give him a hug.
Now he looks concerned and confused.
'OH my darling kiddo! Do you want to come in for tea? What on earth is going on?'

I blame it on family crap make my apologies and get in my car.
This time I come home no stopping.
There is already a message on my machine I ignore.

Life is strange.
Dreams are stranger.

Meds Meds Meds

This morning I had trouble rousing myself from my bed.
My clients felt the same way.

Med visits mostly with an assist or two in there.
It amazes me when someone's blister pack contains more than 4 morning pills all medications.
I had a client today who had 14 pills for morning time. 14!
The rule I always heard was more than 10 meds in a 24 hour period is too many.
That is ten different medications not ten pills in total.

Another Lady this am was in so much pain she could not use her arm.
She also kicked up about taking the pills with water.
'Makes trouble with the other things...'
She means incontinence.

Meds Meds Meds.
Keeps us all going, I suppose.
Without meds I would be dead; breathless.


Perhaps I was a tad hasty

Caregiving is a tireing profession.
Noone understands it as well as another Caregiver.
It is strange but sometimes a simple "Good job" from a coworker makes you feel rejuvenated.
I try to be the one who remembers to say thank-you. Some times I forget.
I have to be rigorous about stretching every day, and a very large and nutritional breakfast is a MUST.
The grateful journal is a tool I believe changed my life. I go to bed so very thankful to be alive.
I really do love my job.
Some of the situations are messed up but what isn't in this topsy turvy world?
It is all about how you deal.

A month or so ago I had a bad situation at work when a regular client of mine was in a delerium.
The behaviours were difficult but worse was the spouses anger and how it was directed.
I did not like it ONE BIT and of course I am unlikely to ever pretend something wrong is right.

Now the Spouses of those requiring heavy care bear burdens that need to be shared.
Alot of these people cannot see themselves burning out. They take on more and more.
One of the telltale signs is the blame game.
As they get closer to burn-out, you hear little jabs here and there about this person or that person.
Never you, of course, always someone else.
I am notoriously blunt. A straight shooter. I hate the BS blame game.

So in this home, the game is afoot as soon as my foot enters the door.
The shower curtain was not put up correctly and scratched the newly painted wall.
The carpet was vacuumed with the wrong end of the cleaner warping the beaters.
The dishes were put away in all the wrong cupboards and it took *hours* to find things.
Blah bloody blah blah blah.
What a load of manure. I just tune it out.

I was helping my co-worker transfer this gentleman last week when a commanding voice called out *STOP*
Since this is not my boss, I disregarded it.
A loud yell.
Then we got a five minute lecture on how to transfer people without damaging dangling body parts.

I am pretty cool at work. After all I get to leave. They have to stay. It is their life.
Is it worth it for her to be a 24/7 caregiver to a guy she didnt know all THAT long before the accident?
Of course he does have a tidy pension that enables a pretty decent lifestyle...
and of course he will never say anything negative about her as the alternative is living fulltime in a facility.

But I must have conveyed my displeasure in some silent manner.
The next day I was working with a different person in the same home.
My co-worker said to me: "Hey if you dont want another issue just dont be touching anything."
She already knew all about our reeducation.

Petty petty petty.
It is not very nice to try to pit worker against worker but it is common with manipulative family members.
It is the control.
If they cannot control you, they bloody well WILL control what is said about you.

I had thought this particular person had learned something in her counselling and followup after her striking out in the presence of workers.
Perhaps I was a tad hasty.

I will be SO glad when all the holidaying people are back.
I get to go back to being there just once or twice in a week.

One more little jab and she might find herself on the less desirable end of a conversation.
I overlook well. But: once in my face is unfortunate.
Twice in my face is a very serious error.
We have the right to respect.
I don't go for disrespecting people in their absence. I am not much for it in their presence either but at least it is honest.

We dream of stars

Good little Emma.
Tiny and quaint and so funny.

No matter what we talk about she has a story or five to tell me.
Frequently she will tell me HER dreams and then I feel normal again.
She dreams things almost (almost) as odd as do I.
Of course she is also convinced we moved her into a new home and is always wondering how exactly we accomplished this magical feat. She seems to think I was in on it.

Emma was telling me we dream of stars.
"Do we?" I said.
"Yes of course don't you remember?"
"Uh,... I do?"
"Well it was all your idea dear. I only came along because you insisted."

All right. It makes a mystical sort of nonsense.
More Noodledom.
All hail Queen Me.


Back in the Hotel

The Hotel is not in the Crystal city but it is in one of those towns I dream about all the time.
Sometimes when I am there, I don't have a reservation.
Sometimes, I don't have money to pay for my room.
Sometimes I get on the wrong elevator and go places that I would rather not be.

Last night to my shock, I realised I was staying in the same room as a gentleman friend of mine.
Then I realised we were lovers.
Then I realised that he was my friend of long ago who died of HIV/AIDS.

Then I woke up wondering what on earth would bring THAT on.

I am driving a Van. It is full of people and we are on our way to a huge International Kite Festival.
I am driving because everyone else is drunk or stoned. We get to the Border and the Van gets searched.
Nothing in our Van!

We get to the Festival and one of the guys scurries over to the big Kahunas Van.
He takes out a stack of kites and brings them over.
The spars he loosens and out pop joints everywhere.
"How could you do that?" I said indignantly.
"AH they would never search his Van."
"Does he know you used him to smuggle drugs?"
"Oh brother, you are so damned dramatic."

This actually did happen.
And I dream about sometimes but in my dream we dont make it across the border.
I am so dramatic.

Saint Jennifer and the Temptress Angelina

This COULD be a post about my beloved myths and archetypes.
Instead it is a modern day blogsulk over the demise of my once favourite read into nothing more than glossy tabloid press.

I wait each month for my Vanity Fair to arrive in the Post.
It is the day I take out my finest bath salts and immerse myself in the scented hot water with eager anticipation.
A good issue is two full tubs of water.
A mediocre issue one and a half.
This months promisingly thick issue was less than one.

Woolcott writing on Porn star autobiographies as a buddying genre, Dunne on Safra AGAIN, and the cover dedicated to yet another actress almost naked. Does anyone ever take a stand on this and try wearing something shockingly non-risque? Oh Vanity Fair. All those trees died for what? Glorifying anorexic teenagers trying to sell coutre?

And the content that left me so very cool?

Flash back in time to the 90s when Angelina Jolie showed up at an awards ceremony with her brother. She was not shy about professing her love for him. It did not sound entirely wholesome. This was before her amazing run of successful films as a powerhouse action figurehead of a warrior woman. I remember a few catty comments about her lips. Collagen was not yet de rigeur.

Then there was Jennifer the spunky little pretty *Friend* with the hair everyone wanted. I am at a disadvantage on the topic of *Friends* since I did not get the show at all. I found it tiresome. Skinny women and dumdum men. Big woo.

Now for some reason these two women have the same taste in men. Possibly Angelina's taste is more about conquering men but still....
Miles of Tabloid press have focused international attention on this unsavoury situation.

I admired Jennifer Aniston's position not to talk about it in gorey detail. Little did I know she was just biding her time until her Cover story Vanity Fair piece came out.

OH Jen...
Did posing barely clothed make you feel better about yourself as a woman?

You were my role model for the best revenge being a good life.
Feet of clay. *sulk*

Angelina is a gorgeous powerful woman who clearly exercises an immense sexual attraction towards both men and women. She is a complicated person and hard to pin down on any topic not involving Good Works but she clearly knows herself well and uses her drives in her career choices.

oh bah.
Throw the bum out and don't let him back.
So he is gone long gone and it is all so confusing.
Once they stray it tends to become a habit.
In a profession where promiscuity is as common as hairspray a happy marriage is mostly myth.
Why any day now we will be hearing Catherine Zeta-Jones has dumped her almost geriatric sex addict husband for someone less positioned for power and more positioned for....

Ok. Maybe not.
Cate the great loves power and married well.
Angelina doesn't marry them.
She just collects hearts and moves on.

What is this doing on my blog?
Oh bah I just read my Vanity fair.
I am so disappointed.
Might as well subscribe to the Enquirer.




More speaking in Tongues

My demented client has not yet reverted to her original Dutch fulltime but it is coming.
The other Sunday we were speaking Dutch.
Well, she was. I was speaking a dialect she called almost understandable.
It is similar to my Welch. Which is unexistant.
But not as good as my French which is perfect written and completely incomprehensible spoken.
This is what comes of lousy diction.

Knowing that I adore clocks my client pointed me to a saying on her wall.
"Zooals het klokje thuis tikt,
Tikt het nergons."
That is such a cute saying.

She reminds me of one I learned a few years ago myself.
"Eigen haard is goud waaard."
(The heart at home is like gold.)


A Blessing in everything

GodblesstheCBC is in the throes of a labour dispute!
Radio One has turned into some management types wet dream of peurile programming.
Bryan Adams every 1/2 hour. *ugh*

Radio Two seems almost better.
One of the problems our public broadcaster embraces is a tendency to play and overplay the same classical works. Disk drive is fine for those who like Jurgen but not 24/7 please.
The strike-bound Radio Two is diverse and listenable. Someone with a bit of taste is in control.

This is not to say that all regular programming on Radio Two is predictable.
A few of the shows are inspired and even witty.
I love "In the Shadow" which features composers unlucky enough to be contempories of the great lumunaries in the genre. The biographical quips and the empathetical writing of the show make me feel the anguish of the also-gifted.

The morning host (remember I am horrid with names) has this newish segment he calls *cage-match* where he pits composers against each other. I laugh every single morning.

At night, I listen to "Ideas", now generally hosted by Paul Kennedy.
I miss Lister Sinclair, but Mr. Kennedy is most excellent too.
I somehow doubt he will do a segment as risque as the one on female ejaculation that made me almost drive off the road but still.... very good.

The blessing in this is that I am fondly anticipating the end to this Labour Dispute so I can have my CBC back. Come on Corporate people... settle!!

Every bloody Government service has been hacked slashed and mutliated.
The CBC is but a pale shade of what it once was.
For pity's sake, let us keep what we have.


Where my heart is...

Where my heart is there will my treasure be also.

Sometimes the covetousness I am so inclined towards makes me stop and shake my head.
My sister blew into town today to visit our parent.
I did not want to hang around but for the sake of propriety I did.

In she came, talking a thousand words a minute, about herself.
I looked over and saw her wearing the necklace she had traded me for a few years ago.
I wanted to slap her.

I inherited an opal and diamond ring from our Mother that was so big we called it "The Moon."
It was one of the more valuable single items in her collection.
My sister inherited a turquoise and diamond ring that my mom had bought from an estate collection. Pretty but not in the same ball park. My sister wanted the opal so I offered to make a trade for the turquoise which is my birthstone PLUS a peacock pendant on a gold chain which she claimed to hate. Right up until the moment I wanted it in trade.

We met with our parent in a restaurant halfway between both our cities and she *forgot* the necklace. Needless to say she never did give it to me. She reneged the second she got home with the MOON in her possession. I was very miffed. How greedy can a person be. She has all the heirloom whoppers and she isnt even the eldest. She has my Mom's 30k wedding set which she cavalierly wears on her middle finger outshining her own wedding set (which my mom bought for her) but it is never enough. She looks like my mom but the resemblance ends there. Mom was fond of shiny things but she didnt take from others.

Hmm... maybe I just never knew about it.

I hate myself for being so annoyed.
I want my peacock!
I want my sister to behave for once in a way that honours her word.
Her word is worthless.


Olde adages

The little lady with the shuffle took her shoes off and rubbed her feet.

"I do not know why they get so sore these days, dear. I suppose it is my age."

She is 91. Her skin is in marvellous condition and so is her mind. She has lost much of her vision to macular degeneration and her shoulder broke last year when she fell on the ice.
There is a pin in her somewhere.

We had done all my 'set' tasks and I was headed for an unscheduled break. Another late cancel! Bah... to sit in my car?

"Would you like me to get your foot tub?"
"Oh no,dear, that would be too much trouble."

The hell it is. I got the electric foot fixer her daughter had given her for Christmas out from the main bathroom where it was covered in two inches of dust. After washing it off, I filled it with warm water and 2 tbsps of baby oil and brought it in to her with some towels. She eased her feet in and I dialed the setting for massage/bubble.

I brought her a cup of tea and we chatted away for 25 mins.
There was a pumice stone in the bathromo and a file.
As I was drying her left foot, I had to focus my mind not to say expletives out loud.
Her poor foot had callouses 2 inches thick. Her toenails were dry and split and in some places the skin had grown over the nail. No wonder she couldn't walk without pain.

I knew she had no idea that her feet were so unkempt and I also knew that she would be very distressed to think I had seen her in a way she would find unflattering.
I kept encouraging her to tell me about life in England of the 20s and 30s and she forgot about my ministrations to her and told all kinds of tales.

After creaming her beautifully groomed feet and putting her slippers on I disposed of the evidence. She sat smiling and then got up to get a picture to show me.
No more shuffle.

"You know, that little machine is a marvel. I must remember to thank my daughter. I had no idea it could make such a difference."

That was the best break I have had in months.
Bless her heart and toesies.


There is a garden in her face... Where roses and white lilies bloom... A heavenly paradise is that place... Thomas Campion c. 1619


A tiny side-effect (zzzz)

It is a wonderful thing to sleep.
A wonderful restful blissed and blessed feeling.
Now to wake up!!

Today found me dragging my butt around town.
MOST UNLIKE ME! I sat down in one of my client's homes and almost fell asleep.
It did not help that my newest client turned out to be a cancellation.
Another one of those out of town kids arriving to fix mom and dad.
"Mother is very independant and does not need help. She is just a little slow, that's all."
When Mom falls and breaks her hip/arm/shoulder/leg I will see them again.

It is very hard to acknowledge change. For me too!
I was always the strongest one. Always the one who could do anything.
Always the cleanup person. And now: I just physically cannot do certain things.
At least not repeatedly. It is difficult for me to not do these things anyway.

So I did not help this lady as her son believes she is fine without help.
And instead I sat in my car watching the waves roll in on the company dime.
What a waste those late cancels are!

Tomorrow also is a lite day as another client has gone to hospital. I wish her Godspeed and pray for surgical success. She is really one of my favourites altho she likes being washed vigourously just a little too much for my comfort. What the hell tho. She is a great olde bird.
Hope she is home again soon.

So this tiny side effect and I are going to bed now.
Yeah yeah I know its 8:30pm
I will blame it on the weather change.

Two nights ago the dreaming put me in a horror film where this creepy woman bade me and my companions enter. We were in some sort of railway cart. As we went in the first woman was decapitated. [Yeah I know.... charming.] The creepy woman told us it was regrettable but necessary and after all it was not real. We were ushered to behind a door and another cart came in. I woke up rather than watch another decapitation. The gist of the dream was motion and calamity.

The next night I was in a train. Yeah yeah cliches are us.
The train went out of control of course and crashed.
I survived.

Last night it was a gondola. Another crash. More women screaming.

Sometimes I wish I could just dream about ones and zeros or prom night or the History of Modern buggery man or anything BUT vehicles out of control.
How come I am never an Egyptian Princess making love with my Nubian slave?
Why am I not at a banquet with olde friends?
No no it's always these dramatic crashes. BAH

At Least I survive.

For years I would dream about being in a car going on a highway to a familiar destination.
Inevitably the landscape would change and somehow I would be going entirely the wrong way and get stuck in those one horse town. Always the same type of town. Always I would go into a diner or the gas station and always I would have no gas to leave or have missed the bus/train/plane/.

I guess this is progress but how weird is this?
DO other people dream the same dreams all the time?

I knew when I saw the film "Gladiator" that the scene where an emerging gladiator has his head removed by a spiked flail would come back to haunt me. bah

I used to talk in my sleep in rhyme and my roommates would write it down.
Little couplets of doggeral. God knows what I thought I was doing.
*note to self: remove all spiked flails from home before retiring*


The realm of sleep is a queer one.
If more people remembered their dreams, not alot would get done in life.
Bellybuttons would be pondered endlessly.

Good Morning!

No pudding in my bed today ! That is progress!

I dreamed I stepped into a gondola. Two other people shared the car.
As the trip began, a woman cried out: OH no the cable snapped!

The Gondola careened down it's route finally stopping and rolling over.
I calmly stepped out delighted to be uninjured.
Not dead yet!


Left to my own devices

One of the worst aspects that a true procrastinator exhibits is a tendency towards laziness.

Oh yes, I bolded and hilighted that on purpose as it so describes myself.
I am Noodledom's Reigning Queen.
Lazing about my divine right, and my right divine.

I wake up, work, come home, do parent stuff,swear a few times quietly to myself, come upstairs to bed and realise:
"hmm, I am hungry. Perhaps a meal would be prudent."

As long as a single serving of yoghurt is in the fridge, as long as frozen raspberries are accessible, as long as those pudding cups that pretend to be fat-free live in my cupboards, as long as everything easy is near, no cooking is done at those times.

Last night around this very time I had an overwhelming craving for a charbroiled hamburger.
A&W obliged. yumyum

Now, I had it on good authority that if I conceded (drat is it conceeded or conceded?) to take these bloody meds at nighttime I would not yell anymore in my sleep nor would I sleepwalk.

Since I have close neighbours who worry about my seemingly abherrent nighttime peccadillos not to mention family and friends who really do not understand what the hell is up with me although they pretend very well, I broke down and took the &^$%^$@!@! meds.

I slept well Thursday altho they upset my tummy and I felt a tad off the next day.
I slept very well Friday and dreamed about the Crystal City, awakening refreshed.
Saturday I had a great sleept and Sunday, yesterday I even took an afternoon nappieboo.

Last night I had a long lovely sleep and dreamt of interesting things.
This morning I woke up to find 4 pudding cups in my bed, all chocolate.

I am guessing thse pills need a few more days to really kick in ;0

Tonight I don't have to worry about midnite munchies I am so full.
I was most fortunate in being invited out for dinner to the very fish and chippery my erstwhile dater has being promising to take me.

We sat in the garden and enjoyed a lovely meal. I even had pear melba for dessert.
It was delicious. I now intend to go to bed having delivered the cheque for the dance thingee, and being full of all things good.

Tomorrow looks to be another cooker.
Luckily its lady's day and no hard back-breaking work is to be done by me except for one male client for which I have an able and male assist. YAY

So good night and God Bless and stay safe.


c'est moi

oh golly...

Oh my golly oh my golly!!

Nah, that is not another Pixies quote, (altho it could be) it is me at the end of my shift on a very warm day wondering if I can make it home without fainting.

I have a wonderful male client who is very tall and weighs 210 pds of mostly muscle.
He is a fine gentleman, and I am happy to have met him.
But: he is too tall and at risk for me to safely transfer even a belt.
Of course he does not tell his case manager that he falls, and of course when asked, everything is fine so fine. But he is too tall and too at risk for me to safely assist.

I wondered why I was so tired. Then I remembered the sauna of his bathroom and the difficulty of assisting him in and out. I am not young enough for that.
Send a man. We have them.


It is official.
The fast computer with XP on it is out of service. The data is all there and I am sure a brighter mind than mine can figure out a way to get it to behave but I give up.
Three re-installs plus service pack 2 and I still cant get it to run AV of any sort.
It has explorer.exe now but oh my golly another big fat headieache.

I just remembered I am supposed to be doing stuff for the Dance Association of the financial kind and as I am Treasurer I best get to it.




Hard-wiring and Siestas

Just as it happened last night, I lit my candle and turned on my fountain, set the music to an ambient mix and lay thinking of the many blessings in my life.
---Two hours later---

I had a lovely siesta on this, the hottest of summer days.
Sleeping rids me of my distastes and anger towards those who practise injustice.
I awaken with a love for all.

One thing that I know for certain is my awareness of an all Powerful Being has been life-long.
When I speak with those who hold no such certainty in their hearts and minds it seems the basic difference between us is not so much a question of beliefs as a question of hard-wiring.

During my younger years when recreation was fuelled with sport and other adrenilin surgers, I felt myself away from God many times. God did not move-- my focus did.
In times of despair soaked through with prescription drugs/alcohol, I felt God all right, but my awareness of my own utterly sin-sodden self took focus away from righteousness.
I hate drugs. But I hate alcohol more. Alcohol is the *me* drug.

Even 12 step programs are all about the ME/I/me/I.
Necessary but not the whole answer.

The closest belief system to my own desire and longing is the Essene way.
Todays Blessing (as worded by Danaan Parry, God rest his Soul)

" As the richness of my life brings peace to my soul,
So do I actively share this peace with all.
Peace with those I love,
Peace with those who trouble me,
Peace with those I fear,
Peace with beings far and near.
For it is I who chain the Dove of Peace
Or I who let it fly."

Amen to that.

Heat--- light--- hide!

How grateful I am to be home as the heat of the day comes into it's own.
How thankful I am to have the means to be able to work a short shift.
It is not hard to live on little if your needs are small.
My biggest expense is prescription drugs. If you need to have an ailment requiring meds, severe asthma is not the one to choose. Brain problems are pricey too.
But the good part is that I am breathing!!

Breathing is good!
One of my morning clients had a terrible time with a cough this am.
I told her just to wait it out and rubbed her back as she choked and coughed for 30 minutes.
It was unnice but she lived thro it. By the time I left, she had calmed down considerably.

My very early morning client chokes too. She is more theatrical about it.
I dont wish it on anyone.
In 2001 I almost died from an asthma attack. I was with 2 friends at the time.
It was a very frightening experience for us all.
I take my meds religiously now.


Stopped by my Church on the way home.
Looked in and saw a packed house. Saw the Professional in the front seats and turned about to exit. My heart was too black to stay in the same sanctuary as God and her.
I took God with me and left. One day I will be a better person. Not today.


Rex Murphy on GodblesstheCBC is discussing the English Language. We have 1/2 million words in English yet the same tired old phrases are dragged out incessantly.

I am as guilty as everyone else. Redundant babble.


Hot enough?

Way too hot for me.

OF course I spend these sorts of days in the dim haven that is my home.
Or I visit my parent and sit in the spare room and close the blinds.

To my joy I can easily bliss out all day as long as a book is at the ready.
Or a doggie.
Of course a boyfriend would be an acceptable alterntative too but a tall and good-looking neurotic high maintenace fellow of my acquaintenceship is so into himself, he is off the menu. A good and interesting person to be a friend with. A object to drool over. A dream to dream every now and then, but upon awakening there is nothing there. Intense introspection tends to supercede common courtesy.

Been there, done that, can't remember.
Dont want to either.

I found some shines today.
Unset sapphires. Whee.
I might have to get myself designing.


Bless the techs everywhere (and a POX on XP hackers)

Ah my # came up.
My IP # that is.

Somehow... as I was installing my critical updates to WinXP, a malicious trojan came aboard.
After reboot, as required by the updates, I had totally lost explorer.exe

No taskbar no rightclick no nadda
I had to use ye olde CONT>ALT>DEL to get task manager open to IM a tech friend.

It was ugly.
Even using remote access he was unable to clean it. Not that he didnt try til 3am last nite and the better part of today. It were ugly, ma.

now its installed over (twice)
and restored and buggery everything else you can think of
and that trojan and a worm still come on my good ship.

so tomorrow its ANOTHER SP2 install offline and some hardware firewall and bugger everything else.

I hate spyware worms and trojans.
So much negative energy.


Its too quiet

I have a mostly set clientelle atm.
One small change: a Lady way out in the back of beyond is off my schedule and on someone elses. Thats okay by me--- driving 30k for one client is stupid.

Now I am mostly in the Village. I am wondering how long this can last.
It is too good to be true.

Lite reading

Still not frivolous fluff but:

Another Eco--- "Baudolino"

"The Quest for Merlin" by Nikolai Tolstoy

and oh my! A strange little book called the Power of Positive Prophecy by Laurie Beth Jones.

I read a stupid book called Hopjoy was here.. It was fun.
And immediatly afterwards I had a craving for chicken mcnuggets.
Scary stuff!

My middle English has slipped away.
I have been wading through Chaucer "Troilus and Criseyde" for a week now.
Shame on me.

" The bente moon with hire hornes pale,
Saturne, and Jove in Cancro joyned were,
That swych a reyn from hevene gan awale,
That every maner womman that was there
Hadde of that smoke reyn a verray feere."

(III 624-8)

Or better yet, how about this line:
"For he nyl falsen no wight, dar I seye That wp; his herte al holly on hym leye."

Time was I could actually read that at normal speed instead of speaking each word in my mind.



From the world of fools where I am Queen of everything to reality.

The obscute nobbler is a saprophyte. Her facinorous client, quite the parvenu, has taken to telling people how wealthy her family was. This is almost too sad.

Nothing is quite as pathetic as those who have the need to be little panjandrums.
Oh so important are they. And amazingly, there are those who fall for it. A complete virago like her, and yet they fall for it. Amazing. Still the slings and arrows fall. Slander and worse.
Granted we are a family of pixallated beings but we are not mean, nor liars, nor thieves, nor prigs. Too bad.

well, that little rant made me feel MUCH better.

God is not mocked.


Months with no R's

Sunday afternoon my family and I went for dinner in a clean family restaurant.
I ordered the "pulled pork" and ravenously devoured every crumb.
It came with fried sweet onions and a sticky honey-garlic sauce. It was delicious.
Cold comfort when not a few hours later my stomach began to protest.

I went to bed groaning.
It was apparant that sleep was not going to be easy.
I was up and down all night and the next morning I felt _all right_ but just so.
Thinking it was just a poor choice off the menu I went to work.
By my second client, I had already hit the beach washrooms twice.
By the fourth I had stopped in the town, *and* at a friends, *and* was green at the gills.

Still, I thought it had abated.

I walked into one of my Ladies and as I stooped to put my keys down, my guts roiled.
I stood upright and stock still.

"Are you all right? You look not yourself."
Damned straight.
She had her companion serve me some flat ginger ale which calmed the roiling.
She filled a flask for me for later. Saved me, that did.

I told her I thought the pulled pork was pulling me.
"Pork? In August? Never eat pork in a month without an R."

She allowed as how refrigeration had made that saying somewhat archaic but having suffered a full 48 hours with stomach and intestinal distress I think she may be onto something.
I spent the next 24 hours in bed moaning.

Bugger the bollocky pork anyway.
[With a pointy stick!]

I was back to work today and back to return the flask.

"Thank you so much for the ginger ale. Well and truly you saved me."

"OH , my pleasure. You save ME every day."

I said she was being kind and she said she was telling the truth and we parted both smiling.



The Stench in my Nostrils

Imagine yourself a bereaved widower. You had what you believed to be a wonderful marriage. Sure your kids did not oblige you by becoming Doctors and Lawyers but they are a good lot and you enjoy good relations with all of them. You are very lonely. And then *wham*

From out of your Church comes a well-groomed, articulate showy woman who is all over you. She comes with baggage and bullshit, but the latter outweighs the former especially when you wind up in the bedroom. You choose to overlook the baggage and buy into the bs. and she tells everyone and anyone that God sent you to her to take care of. She tells your children that she thought you were on welfare but since God sent you, she is willing to take care of you.

Your children are not impressed but you are busy in bed and suddenly, your paramour tells you the gossips of the Church are ruining her reputation. She has been slandered. So 27 days after meeting her you marry her.

Boy oh boy you are some kind of chump.

You have one year of wedded bliss although her temper is troublesome.
In the second year you have a mysterious blow to the head and are in hospital for months. Your beloved wife is all for pulling the plug but there isnt one. She is certain you are on your way to heaven and she could not be happier about it. You recover and life is now officially hell. No more pretense. She hates you, sucker.

There is a tiny problem here. This is a true story.

The man is trying desparatly to be rid of this woman but she aint going nowhere.
She spends her days at the lawyers, plotting and scheming. For a woman who claims an income of only 15,000 a year she has an amazing amount of disposable income in which to conduct this case. The case is unnecessary as if this man died today, the woman would get almost 70,000 a year (indexed) for life, regardless of their martial situation. The trouble is, she wants it NOW.

This impacts me because I have to be the cleanup crew.
The woman did dickall to take care of the man. One year. That's it.
She is so shallow and indecent she does not even have the class to resign from the Missions Board she got a place on by virtue of her marriage only. Amazing.

So she will get a huge pension for being a bitch.
And I will get the satisfaction of knowing I honour my parents.

The high road is real lonely.
I feel like dropping some rocks down on the stinker in the bog.



A wonderful surprise!

As is common in my work schedule and workplace, today I had a *change.* One of my regular clients is once again in hospital. This happens frequently in our business and is expected.
Being employed by a Worksite that operates under Union contracts, seniority rules.
What this means is that if there is not 24 hours notice given (to me) and no other client is available to replace the one who is off service with, I get paid anyway. Needless to say, another client is usually found quickly. They are pulled from the casual employees list as a person in a posting gets priority.

When replacing a late cancel, it is not unusual for me to be send to the back of beyond just to make things tidy. Sometimes it makes little sense from a mileage perspective, and in these days of $1 a litre + gasoline, NO sense. I am not a fan of changes of this sort. When I hear that I had a replacement client I was holding my breath.

What a happy surprise! I was sent off to the Wordsmith.
It was delightful to see him. He looks MUCH older but no less dapper. His hearing is atrocious but that does not stop him from chattering away to me with his full arsenal of charm.
Mrs. Wordsmith isn't looking very well. She must be tired.

And how did I thank them for the wonderful surprise?
Why, I knocked over a urinal on the bathroom counter while showering him.
Of course I did not notice until after when the BLEACH water had soaked his clean clothes that I had carefully placed there. The handknit sweater with the tortoiseshell buttons... etc.

Sometimes you just have to take your lumps.
I zipped them into the washing machine and put on a gentle cold rinse, silently praying that it would all work out. (blush)

It has been a long time since I broke, wrecked, smashed or ripped something in someone elses' home. I do remember my most horrifying experience but I will write on that later.
No doubt repeating myself from another time. :)


Surprises are foolish things. The pleasure is not enhanced and the inconvenience is often considerable.
Austen, Jane 1775-1817 British Novelist

The Law. Up close and personal.

I had occasion to see a Supreme Court Justice- up close and personal- this week.
Fear and trepidation were my companions: after all, I have never been to the Supreme Court.
Of course I was fascinated by every aspect. The lawyers calling each other "My friend" when they clearly LOATHE one another was amusing.

The correct way to address a Justice of the Supreme Court is to say: "M'Lord."
For some reason, no doubt to do with global media and the prevelance of American Culture, I was all set to say "Your honour."

As it turned out, I had nothing to say at all. It was not my case after all. My role was chaffeur, wheelchair wrangler and silent witness to some most odious proceedings. Naturally I sat directly across from the Judge, leaning forward attentively to hear his every utterance. When Counsel for the person I was with spoke, I listened respectfully. When Counsel for the Odious one spoke, I leaned into the empty seats in front of me, straining to catch every inference. Anything I knew to be untrue, I threw a hand to my head, or shook my head or glared in disbelief. After all, it was a closed courtroom and I was there on sufferance. I did disgrace myself on one occasion when an outright lie was mouthed as truth. I said, audibly: "LIAR."

The Lawyer for the party of my interest turned around and I managed to look suitably subdued. No regrets though; not a one.

It is never over. We know how the Odious One conducted the last case of similar, perhaps identical circumstance. Appeal, appeal, appeal. Lie lie lie. I feel very sorry for the Lawyer that is mouthing these disgraceful remarks. She no doubt truly believes what she is saying. At least I hope she does. Otherwise she has joined ranks with evil.

I am delighted to say that the Supreme Court Justice the case was sketched before was fair and courteous to both sides. He was a decent and kind listener, while maintaining his control of the courtroom at all times. He did not repeat himself. I was impressed with his ability to disagree with the legal position presented in a very reasonable manner.

God save the Queen.
Some of her loyal defenders actually are decent folk.

"Great liars are also great magicians." -- Adolf Hitler


No 13 Baby

Number 13 baby

got hair in a girl that flows to her bones
and a comb in her pocket if the winds get blown
stripes on her eyes when she walks slow
but her face falls down when she go, go, go
black tear falling on my lazy queen
got a tattooed tit say number 13
don't want no blue eyes
la loma
i want brown eyes
i'm in a state

choir in the yard in the house next door
where a grandma brought some songs from the shore
six foot girl gonna sweat when she dig
stand close to the fire when they light the pig
standing in her chinos shirt pulled off clean
got a tattooed tit say number 13
don't want no blue eyes
la loma
i want brown eyes
i'm in a state

That is still the hottest song ever.
If you don't get it, you never did, never will.
What brought that on you say?

well go look... HERE

And listen to a greeat documentary HERE

and then go drool over Kim Deal HERE

Hate Frank Black-- love his music. Go figure.

I have seen the Pixies about 13 times live.
Seen their tour bus from the inside... be between Charles and Kim during a glare fest and mostly just sang along deliriously happy from the balcony at the Commodore Ballroom.
Oh sure, I saw a stadium show too but it was nothing compared to the Commodore.
Even on the same bill as Primus and Jane's Addiction they blew everyone else off the stage.
UFOs, religious imagery and wild weirdness.
No wonder Kurt Cobain thought it was cool to rip them off.
Me too.
No music has ever made me feel more alive than the Pixies.
I aint the only one.
They are playing the Reading Festival this week. I wish I could go.

"would you like to take anything with you?"

She asked me that question yesterday and I chuckled.
She asked me today and I looked at her a little more closely.
"No, I am fine."

I must have been eying her plate a little too longingly I thought.

"No, not to eat."

I stopped in my tracks. What was this about?
"Thank you but I don't need anything."

"Go look around. See if there is anything you want."

Anything I want? Oh no.
Of course there is. There are antique clocks and paintings and tapestries and books.
But wanting and wanting to take are two different things. I do not like it when people say these sorts of things to me. It makes me wonder a little too deeply about where her inventory will wind up.

"You have some amazing things. I love your home. But I love to see your things with YOU.
In YOUR house."

It did not faze her.
"It won't be my house for much longer. You should take something."

"No but thank you. I really think you should keep your own things until you cannot."
" we are there now." She said without sadness.

She has no family. She has a *friend* who looks in on her. She lives on a street that has gone from being "desirable" to being "almost unattainable"--- very very chi-chi, very tony, very uppercrust. I hope she gets to move into a VERY NICE assisted living space. Somehow, I have the feeling she will end up in the extended care wing, possibly even the locked wing.

When I am old and on my own, will I be giving my stuff away to the woman who comes to check my meds too? If I do, I suppose it will be my choice to do so.

Would I ever take anything?
No. Of course not.
I wish I could say the same of everyone. Wouldn't it be nice to think that she would get fair value for all her items and be able to use that money to end her days in high style?
Her home is probably worth 1/2 million dollars now.
Where will she be in 6 months?

As my sister would say:
"Its the curse of the second sight."
As I would say:
"Alas. Human nature show itself all too often."
--and I dont mean the lovely fading woman.

The Olde-Timers

Most of my clients were born in the 1930s and 1920s. A few debuted in the teens and one or two in the naughts. We lost the one born in the naughty nineties. Yes, the 18-90s. We did not lose her to the grave- we lost her to a brand spanking new Carehome. A private carehome.

When I am 107, I want to live in a brandnew private Carehome too! It is much more likely I will be biding my time in a cold patch of earth. Ah, skeptism!

My morning client was born the same year his house was built; the same year the olde oak at the back was planted, the same year the Chinese republic was declared after the Manchu dynasty was overthrown. 1911.

My client was telling me tonight's dinner will be sausages and Yorkshire pudding.
I love that idea. I love it enough to try it myself tomorrow night. And here, shared by consent is his generic Yorkshire pudding recipe.

1 1/2 C Flour
1 1/4 Tablespoon baking powder
2 eggs whipped
bit of milk
pinch of salt

I have a feeling his definition of bit and pinch could be the secret right there.

There was a berry pie cooling on the counter alongside 2 dozen cookies.
"Thought the kids might come."
Yesterday there was a chocolate cake. The kids did not come so he put it away.
The kids are his grandsons and their children. He was a little sad last weekend that noone at all showed up- the fact most of them live 100 miles away means nothing much to him.

Today is a holiday. The road in front of his house was busy with a parade of campers and boats and cars, one after another. He sits on the couch and counts them.

"Yup, I guess one more year and I will retire."
"Yup, one more year and I will pack my shaver and my toothbrush in my bag and walk out the door."

The one acre yard takes him a few days to cut now. He is fretting about the price of furnace oil. He does not know how he is going to get his groceries since town is about 7 miles away and he doesn't know how far the scooter will go.

There are more than a few neighbour kids who would LOVE the job of cutting his lawn, but he does not want to pay more than 5 bucks. He has 7 cords of wood piled outside that can get him through the winter, and both local grocery stores offer delivery. He won't use the service because he got a bag of grapefruits from one of them, with 3 fruits that had to be thrown away.
He was annoyed to think he paid 50 cents each for garbage.
"That's what comes of someone else picking out your food. If I can't see it, I don't want to buy it."

He told me the only thing he ever bought on credit was his house. Even then, he paid one third down, and the balance off over 2 years. There is a definite Scot in him.

When I come he asks me what took me so long and when I leave he calls me love and thanks me and makes sure he knows when I am coming back.

What immense charm in the ways of stability.

My very next client saw his name on my sheets and asked if it was _______ (his first name), the painter and wall-paper hanger.

"Oh he was such a wonderful gentleman. His wife wasn't well for years you know. He did all the cooking and cleaning and nursed her. He really is a wonderful man."

HEY.... I knew that!