GOOSECHASES

One of those days that just plain doesn't work, on many levels, and would be good to call "Cut!", scrap the footage, re-write, re-cast, and shoot again tomorrow with a different prop girl. Or perhaps shoot THE prop girl. I get all the way in to Rite-Aid in Allendale, this is a pharmacy, to collect Odd's "Ativan"(tranquilizer) prescription which Hospice phoned in a week ago and which I've been putting off because he's not out of it and because it's not on my way anymore to anywhere--and find they have no record of it. I am directed to the Rite-Aid on Elm Street, across town. 

En route, I swing into UPS to find out how much the Encyclopedia of World Art, 15 volumes, would be to ship, in the unlikely event someone on eBay can't live without them even though some of the pages don't work and there's Velasquezes stuck to Vermeers and so on--and find out about $22 per volume. Forget it. Lugged in the big wooden casket of Royal Copenhagen silver service for twenty Peg wants me to take back to England, to see what it would cost to ship since you know Virgin's not going to let me on with knives and forks in my hand luggage--about $150 they said, and that's just the box, no silver. Forget it. 

The Rite-Aid on Elm has no record of my father's Ativan prescription, which is too bad, because I was looking forward to chewing on a handful and maybe stuffing a few up my nose. 

I swung into a flooring place to look for something appealing for the kitchen, being so far unable to reconcile myself to the idea of Stick-On lino tiles from Home Depot, as recommended by staff, but left without buying because I had to get to Peg in Lee at the nursing home by noon sharp, when they serve lunch, because as a surprise I was bringing her favorite sandwich, peanut butter (smooth) on white bread with iceberg (chopped) and Miracle Whip and didn't want her filling up on meat loaf and gravy.

I made it, even though at the intersection of Holmes Road and Rte 7, the gearshift knob on the borrowed Saab came off in my hand and somehow shot into the backseat. [NOTE TO OWNER: Tory, this is not a complaint, I love the car, but it has given a whole new meaning to the term "stick shift"]
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STAFF ON CALL:

Bonnie, who did Amazing Bonnie stuff

Outside Bob, who did Amazing Bob stuff, particularly getting the 30 year old dishwasher pulled out to find a torn drainage hose, which explains the flood which ruined the floor which necessitated a trip to the linoleum store. He had to turn off the water for this operation, tried at three different points, all the valves leaked, so ended up having to turn if off at the well, then had to race into L.P. Adams in Dalton to get couplings or hoses or whatever--and get the water back on before Erica the Hospice Home Health Aide arrived at 1:15 to shower and shave Daddy.
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MOOD:

Low cloud cover that still hasn't lifted. Fuzzy head. Sneezing. Allergy? What's going on. Am also trying to figure out why my father laughs at stuff that isn't funny, and why it grates on me so, why I can't just accept it. Examples:

"Daddy? I'm going to do mushroom omelets for dinner, is that ok?
[LAUGHING] "Omelets! Oh, you're so clever."

[PHONE RINGS. I ANSWER. IT'S DOMINICK, ASKING WHAT TIME TOMORROW]
"Who was on the phone?"
"Dominick, Daddy."
"Dominick! [VASTLY AMUSED]

"What's the plan for today then?" 
"Not a lot, Daddy. I'm heading to the post office in a minute."
[CHUCKLES] "The post office!"

I'm not totally sure it's an age thing or a dementia-related thing, I think he might have done this for awhile and it's just gotten worse is all. Maybe he doesn't know how to react and figures laughing is better than, say, asking "Who's Dominick again?" (and have me jump down his throat). Maybe it's simply a nervous reaction to English being his second language. Maybe I'm a complete cow for even mentioning it because he means so well and is trying so hard. [NOT HARD ENOUGH, BUDDY, SHE SAYS, LAUGHING]

The other thing that annoys me is you know that ad that runs down the right hand side of your email on AOL and is intensely irritating and distracting whatever it's advertising? The last few days it's been for Depends, adult diapers. AOL has scanned my mail (they do this, honest), saw that I've mentioned Depends and now think I want to buy myself a few hundred pairs.

Well NOT YET, AOL, not yet. Soon though.