I heard nothing this morning, no sound from below. You wonder. You wonder if this is it, did it finally happen, peacefully, overnight. Every morning this is my first thought upon waking. Part of you hopes, the other part is scared.
If I tiptoe halfway down the stairs I can peer into the den to see if Daddy is ensconced on his stained velvet chair in front of the TV. No sign this morning. So I tippy-toed further, in my nightshirt, and unlocked the front door for Bob, turned up the furnace in the den, scampered on into the kitchen to turn up the heat in here and was going to continue round through the dining room, a circle, and go back upstairs that way but at the last minute went back via the bar---and came very close to stepping in a pile of dog shit. Which had been deposited within the last thirty seconds. Whereupon Odd appeared around the corner with his walker, lickety split, for once, heading right for this pile.
Had I not chosen to retrace my steps to the den, had I gone the other way, I would not have seen the pile, Daddy would not have seen the pile, would have plowed straight through it with his walker with the tennis balls on the two front legs--and, gosh, wouldn't that have been pretty. So, really, I was lucky, when you think of it, because I only had a pile of dog shit to pick up, not skid marks throughout the house. This is of course before I noticed Odd was wearing different trousers than the ones I'd helped him into the night before, which meant only one thing. And, sure enough, there it was, right there in Odd's room, reeking. His brown sweatpants in a ball on the table, thank you, entwined around a filthy Depends.
_______________
STAFF ON CALL:
Outside Bob, who cleaned the bathroom for me after Odd's second miss in 12 hours, which is above and beyond the call of duty. I hugged him. Tears in my eyes. He also re-printed the 75 contact sheet images from Peg's show that Annie and I threw out, never dreaming that Peg was going to make it out of the ICU or that she would mention "needing" these images every single day since first being carted off to the ER.
Dominick, who visited Peg at the nursing home for two hours then scurried over the mountain to take over from Bob so I could go see Peg and have a pedicure at Lucky Nails in Lee. Am now torn between marrying Outside Bob or the Vietnamese guy who gave me a foot massage.
________________
ACCOMPLISHMENTS:
- Made asparagus soup and took to Peg, fresh from rehab/physio:
"Christ. You should see them in there--two frail old women who looked dead already being told to raise their arms, find a piece of puzzle--I mean--why do they bother!"
- Made a big chicken and leek and mushroom pie for the freezer for when Peg's fan Gary and family come from Oklahoma the end of May so she doesn't have to cook. She will anyway, so the pie is a waste, she will make Nine Hour Pot Roast (not nine hours to cook, nine hours to cut the onions for it, another nine to cut the carrots, and so on--she'll start it a week or so ahead).
- Scanned fifty pages of Peg crap I need to keep before she gets home and it all disappears again under socks and National Geographics and Mayo Clinic Health magazines about How To Spot Diabetes or Coping With Nasal Polyps.
- Wrote three more two minute Mother-Daughter dialogues for her website, which I'll record over at the nursing home with her tomorrow. In theory. If she stops obsessing about "getting her bottom up in the air". We--meaning me, the nurses, the doctor--want her bottom to "get air" so the bed sores will heal, and meaning she should lie on her side occasionally, not just on her back, but Peg has interpreted this to mean she needs to get her bottom higher than her head and is suggesting some sort of pulley system with weights, which is about the point where I stand up and say I have to getting back now, the 4:15 Amtrak to Boston is due past and I need to go throw myself in front of it.
- Dennis from Empire Estate Auction House in Albany arrived with a van and while Odd slept, took away twelve things from upstairs--chairs, settee, mirrors, a Maxfield Parrish, and a milk glass dish belonging to my Great Aunt Helen that features in its center a beaver (we think) coming out of the water and which will bring about seventy five cents at auction. Still. I love seeing stuff leave this place. Including me.
- Packed two out of three bags. Looked up to see Spurn Me Not Angel Honeybear aka The Collie, standing in my living quarters, which is out of bounds. "Get downstairs, you!" I clapped my hands and it ran out and off down the stairs. I then happened to pass by what we call the Tulip Bedroom at the other end of the hall and see a large wet circle of dog urine on the white carpet. What's annoying is that I have gone out of my way to treat this dog extremely well--walks, decent food, food on time, cuddles, pats, a Beggin' Strip before bed--and it craps in the den and then pees upstairs. I am a dog lover, anyone will tell you, but all I want to do is shoot the fucker.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
UNPLEASANT DAY
GENERAL FEELING:
I want to go home. I don't want to do this anymore.
_______________
I don't know how many of you have cleaned up your father's shit, literally, but I've just spent over an hour in the bathroom by the front door where Odd let loose without coming anywhere near the toilet. Walls, pictures, handles, toilet brush holder, plunger, everywhere, everything covered. I stopped him, naked from the waist down, from sitting down on his clean sheets, just in time. Found a Depends, dragged it (them?) on, trying not to breathe or let him touch me. I know he hasn't washed his hands. He never does. Got him settled. Thought he was down for the night. Came in here and soaked my hands in Lysol and poured myself an iced tea pitcher full of wine. Ten minutes later---voila. He's up! He's up!
Christ. You can't fucking win here.
We brought Peg home for a visit, via the Urologist in Pittsfield for her catheter change. Sue, the catheter-changer, the only one Peg will allow to do this, was appalled by Peg's two bed sores, which either the nursing home people have been negligent about or Peg won't let them near her. I know which one my money'd be on. Today when Bonnie and I arrived to collect her she had three aides clustered around her all trying to persuade her to take her pills. These are pills she's been taking for years, nothing new, suddenly she's acting like she's never seen them before and we're all trying to disguise strychnine in chocolate pudding. Then I find out she hasn't been showered which pissed me off since I'd sorted it all out with them the day before. Turns out she refused when they came to get her this morning. Too cold. Too early. Wrong robe. Continental Drift. An "R" in the month. So off she goes to the urologist, unshowered for two weeks and me quietly apologizing to Sue behind Peg's back with hand gestures.
Then we head back to Laurel Lake to get MY car, Bonnie and Peg head off to Friendly's to pick up the Lunch For Five order I'd phoned in, Peg's favorite (hot dog and chocolate milk shake...the big treat) while I race off to Lee Outlets to find Peg regular cotton underpants at Hanes because she should NOT be wearing Depends it turns out, especially not with bed sores, they won't get any air and so on.
Once home, the dog, who Peg can't wait to see and has been dreaming about, pays zero attention to her, in fact runs out to the pen as soon as it sees her and refuses to come in, even when tempted by pieces of Friendly hot dog. All Peg wanted to talk about, besides this lunatic dog, was who said what when about showers over at Laurel Lake and managed to ignore my what I thought exciting news that Sirius XM Radio was going to start playing her shows on May 11th, Mother's Day.
"Did you hear me?"
"Yes."
"Well--isn't that great, Mother? Aren't you pleased?"
"Gina. Her name was Gina. I made her write it on the board and then she never showed up! They're crazy over there, they really are."
So I ended up showering her in the laundry room, thank you Gina, which was all warmed up from the Hospice Home Health Aide showering Odd twenty minutes earlier.
Bonnie drove Peg home about 4:00 PM, just after Odd had his first Unable To Breathe attack, during which Peg offered him asparagus soup. About ten minutes after they'd left I had to tell him again where "Peggy" was. I could probably say "Paris, Daddy. The Sorbonne. But she'll be back tomorrow!" and be fine. At least it might have nicer connotations for him than, say, "LAUREL LAKE NURSING HOME FOR FUCK'S SAKE I JUST TOLD YOU TWENTY SECONDS AGO JESUS CHRIST!"
I am very very close to snapping in half.
_____________
It's now 9:30 PM and Odd is once again in distress. Panting for breath. Gasping. Moaning. Grimacing. Coughing. Panicking. Have called Hospice twice. They can do no more except what I'm doing--nebulizer, Maalox, Ativan--except possibly morphine under the tongue and quite frankly I am loathe to make the nurse trek way the hell out here, weather is disgusting, plus I keep thinking Odd is going to be fine any minute, the way he normally bounces back. What makes tonight's episode slightly different from your normal everyday breathing attacks is that tonight he decided, mid nebulizer (it's this plastic pipe you breathe from connected to a machine with some capsule of something I can't remember emptied into it), that he needed to go to the bathroom. And, well, I guess I just figured he meant "toilet", not the room itself. Wine, I need more wine.
_____________
STAFF ON CALL:
Bonnie: 10 - 6
Bob: 8 - 2. He fixed the kitchen floor swell with plywood and put the cheap rug Peg had over it. Looks fine. Actually it doesn't but I don't care, it'll do for the moment. It's a floor.
I just rang Tory. She was at work. Berkshire something. Place for patients who are never going to leave (unlike me). There's a name for them but can't remember. People on ventilators and machines, general no-hopers. Many of them children. Tory's a nurse. She cleans tubes and changes diapers and administers meds. I burst into tears when she rang me back. Thank God for friends. And latex gloves.
Now I'm crying because I feel guilty for being pissed off at my parents, both of whose bottoms I have seen naked today.
I am not a saint. And I am sure the fuck not going to heaven unless there's Staff On Call and ensuite loos and a private balcony and a fully stocked mini-bar. In fact make it a maxi one.
I want to go home. I don't want to do this anymore.
_______________
I don't know how many of you have cleaned up your father's shit, literally, but I've just spent over an hour in the bathroom by the front door where Odd let loose without coming anywhere near the toilet. Walls, pictures, handles, toilet brush holder, plunger, everywhere, everything covered. I stopped him, naked from the waist down, from sitting down on his clean sheets, just in time. Found a Depends, dragged it (them?) on, trying not to breathe or let him touch me. I know he hasn't washed his hands. He never does. Got him settled. Thought he was down for the night. Came in here and soaked my hands in Lysol and poured myself an iced tea pitcher full of wine. Ten minutes later---voila. He's up! He's up!
Christ. You can't fucking win here.
We brought Peg home for a visit, via the Urologist in Pittsfield for her catheter change. Sue, the catheter-changer, the only one Peg will allow to do this, was appalled by Peg's two bed sores, which either the nursing home people have been negligent about or Peg won't let them near her. I know which one my money'd be on. Today when Bonnie and I arrived to collect her she had three aides clustered around her all trying to persuade her to take her pills. These are pills she's been taking for years, nothing new, suddenly she's acting like she's never seen them before and we're all trying to disguise strychnine in chocolate pudding. Then I find out she hasn't been showered which pissed me off since I'd sorted it all out with them the day before. Turns out she refused when they came to get her this morning. Too cold. Too early. Wrong robe. Continental Drift. An "R" in the month. So off she goes to the urologist, unshowered for two weeks and me quietly apologizing to Sue behind Peg's back with hand gestures.
Then we head back to Laurel Lake to get MY car, Bonnie and Peg head off to Friendly's to pick up the Lunch For Five order I'd phoned in, Peg's favorite (hot dog and chocolate milk shake...the big treat) while I race off to Lee Outlets to find Peg regular cotton underpants at Hanes because she should NOT be wearing Depends it turns out, especially not with bed sores, they won't get any air and so on.
Once home, the dog, who Peg can't wait to see and has been dreaming about, pays zero attention to her, in fact runs out to the pen as soon as it sees her and refuses to come in, even when tempted by pieces of Friendly hot dog. All Peg wanted to talk about, besides this lunatic dog, was who said what when about showers over at Laurel Lake and managed to ignore my what I thought exciting news that Sirius XM Radio was going to start playing her shows on May 11th, Mother's Day.
"Did you hear me?"
"Yes."
"Well--isn't that great, Mother? Aren't you pleased?"
"Gina. Her name was Gina. I made her write it on the board and then she never showed up! They're crazy over there, they really are."
So I ended up showering her in the laundry room, thank you Gina, which was all warmed up from the Hospice Home Health Aide showering Odd twenty minutes earlier.
Bonnie drove Peg home about 4:00 PM, just after Odd had his first Unable To Breathe attack, during which Peg offered him asparagus soup. About ten minutes after they'd left I had to tell him again where "Peggy" was. I could probably say "Paris, Daddy. The Sorbonne. But she'll be back tomorrow!" and be fine. At least it might have nicer connotations for him than, say, "LAUREL LAKE NURSING HOME FOR FUCK'S SAKE I JUST TOLD YOU TWENTY SECONDS AGO JESUS CHRIST!"
I am very very close to snapping in half.
_____________
It's now 9:30 PM and Odd is once again in distress. Panting for breath. Gasping. Moaning. Grimacing. Coughing. Panicking. Have called Hospice twice. They can do no more except what I'm doing--nebulizer, Maalox, Ativan--except possibly morphine under the tongue and quite frankly I am loathe to make the nurse trek way the hell out here, weather is disgusting, plus I keep thinking Odd is going to be fine any minute, the way he normally bounces back. What makes tonight's episode slightly different from your normal everyday breathing attacks is that tonight he decided, mid nebulizer (it's this plastic pipe you breathe from connected to a machine with some capsule of something I can't remember emptied into it), that he needed to go to the bathroom. And, well, I guess I just figured he meant "toilet", not the room itself. Wine, I need more wine.
_____________
STAFF ON CALL:
Bonnie: 10 - 6
Bob: 8 - 2. He fixed the kitchen floor swell with plywood and put the cheap rug Peg had over it. Looks fine. Actually it doesn't but I don't care, it'll do for the moment. It's a floor.
I just rang Tory. She was at work. Berkshire something. Place for patients who are never going to leave (unlike me). There's a name for them but can't remember. People on ventilators and machines, general no-hopers. Many of them children. Tory's a nurse. She cleans tubes and changes diapers and administers meds. I burst into tears when she rang me back. Thank God for friends. And latex gloves.
Now I'm crying because I feel guilty for being pissed off at my parents, both of whose bottoms I have seen naked today.
I am not a saint. And I am sure the fuck not going to heaven unless there's Staff On Call and ensuite loos and a private balcony and a fully stocked mini-bar. In fact make it a maxi one.
Monday, April 28, 2014
LONG DAY (as opposed to?)
Well I don't know where my father is. How could he still be napping at 9:30 PM?. God forbid I go look. He lay down at 2:00. He's made three appearances out here since. I hear the clunk of the walker, a glass of juice being poured in the bar area, I call "Daddy, are you OK?" he says fine fine fine and clunks off again. I thought he was watching TV in the den in his chair. Three times I've been about to down tools and go see to his dinner. Now I guess I forget it. I bet he wanders out just as I'm closing up things for bed and suddenly I'm doing omelets and asparagus soup at midnight. Then have to keep him upright for an hour because of acid reflux. And of course him not being awake means I have not done his second nebulizer treatment. Not that this would kill him (she hopes) but I like to appear on top of things here for the Staff's sake, if nothing else. They have this great image of me being Miss Omnipresent Top Dog In Charge of The Works Who Can Do No Wrong. Hate to have to say Oops. Sorry. Forgot his pills again today, silly me--too often. Oh, and no dinner and forgot to empty his urinal, true, and yes, that's definitely his shoe under the counter, he must have lost it at dinner last night and no, I hadn't noticed, yes, am glad he didn't slip on the floor today too.
Odd has no track of time, is the thing, neither of them do. Peg called me at a quarter to seven this morning from the nursing home in a panic because no one had come to shower her yet "And Tina's coming at seven!"
"Tina's coming at nine Mother. Nine. Not seven."
"I thought she was coming at seven!"
"No. Nine. Tina is coming at nine. She was always coming at nine."
By the time I got over to Laurel Lake at 8:58, Tina was sitting by the bed and Peg was eating the homemade Italian chocolates Tina's husband Dante, a master baker, had made. Tina is Peg's hairdresser.
I got someone to open the beauty salon, got Peg down the hall there via her walker, me daintily carrying her catheter bag over my arm like my purse. Tina washed and blow dried Peg's hair, I did eyebrows and lipstick and got rid of about nineteen disgusting old lady hairs around her mouth, got her into a great outfit, chose necklace and earrings and---didn't have the heart to tell her that even though this was Skype, they were only recording the audio part for the interview. Anyhow she looked marvelous. And she stayed mostly on track, with the questions about her career, and when she didn't, at least she knew it and turned to me to say "What were we talking about?" or "That wasn't the story I wanted to tell, remind me."
I felt badly leaving her but had to get to Price Chopper to do The Weekly Shop and then home before Outside Bob left at 2:00 sharp. Off came the good stuff and back went the stretched-out stained turtleneck, off went the earrings and necklace. Like some prisoner I'd made up to look spiffy for the video telling the world how happy and well-treated the inmates are here then as soon as the red light's off it's back to the bamboo shoots under the fingernails and pajamas made of nettles. And she's so tiny now. Felt like I was undressing one of my dolls.
____________________
STAFF ON CALL:
Bob, who did a magnificent job installing the new dishwasher.
It is with deep regret that I must inform you that the 4 x 6 horse pad made out of crushed tires that weighs a ton but I thought was going to be perfect to replace where the old dishwasher screwed up the parquet--will be delivered to Scott and Cindy in Middlefield to use under one of their horses, primarily because the thing reeks of old crushed tires and I wouldn't be able to enter the kitchen without heaving.
______________________
HIGHLIGHTS:
- Washing and hoovering out the borrowed Saab which will be returned to its rightful owner on Thursday. I think the last time I washed a car I was in my teens. Didn't much care for it even then as I recall. And I should have been wearing rubber boots, not cowboy.
- Finished the final Peg Lynch Scrap Book, this makes Number 6, full of all the original stuff she destroyed Albums 3, 4 and 5 in order to xerox for her Blue Book Project, a pastime I believe I may have touched on in earlier posts.
- Phoned two more cousins who didn't know who I was, to confirm addresses before giving them great cause for rejoice by revealing that they would soon be a lucky recipient of a Blue Book.
- Found Script #42 ("Two Times Nothing") from the Ethel and Albert sketches from The Kate Smith Show, 1952, missing since January. It was hiding in "Old Time Radio Convention" scripts under catheter attachments and some dead light bulbs and in a folder marked "Buster The Neighbourhood Dog Thief", which is the title of a script. You have to stay on your toes around this place, let me tell you. I was so excited that I came running in to show Bob. He was excited too. That's life in Becket for you. It'll probably be in The Berkshire Eagle tomorrow.
_________________
Still no sign of Odd and now scared to check. Will leave a banana on the bar and two cookies and go to bed. District Nurse Hargreaves, at your service. Actually, I had my heart set on becoming a doctor when I was little. My Great Aunt Elise--OB-GYN, who by the way delivered me, if you were thinking of blaming anyone--was Chief Resident at Women's Hospital in New York and I got to follow her on her rounds a few times. She looked spectacular with her blonde hair in her white coat and black high heels and I thought, yep, this is for me. It was only the maths, chemistry and physics part that put me off. Not to mention those latex models of fetuses and birth canals that lined her stairwell in Bronxville.
Odd has no track of time, is the thing, neither of them do. Peg called me at a quarter to seven this morning from the nursing home in a panic because no one had come to shower her yet "And Tina's coming at seven!"
"Tina's coming at nine Mother. Nine. Not seven."
"I thought she was coming at seven!"
"No. Nine. Tina is coming at nine. She was always coming at nine."
By the time I got over to Laurel Lake at 8:58, Tina was sitting by the bed and Peg was eating the homemade Italian chocolates Tina's husband Dante, a master baker, had made. Tina is Peg's hairdresser.
I got someone to open the beauty salon, got Peg down the hall there via her walker, me daintily carrying her catheter bag over my arm like my purse. Tina washed and blow dried Peg's hair, I did eyebrows and lipstick and got rid of about nineteen disgusting old lady hairs around her mouth, got her into a great outfit, chose necklace and earrings and---didn't have the heart to tell her that even though this was Skype, they were only recording the audio part for the interview. Anyhow she looked marvelous. And she stayed mostly on track, with the questions about her career, and when she didn't, at least she knew it and turned to me to say "What were we talking about?" or "That wasn't the story I wanted to tell, remind me."
I felt badly leaving her but had to get to Price Chopper to do The Weekly Shop and then home before Outside Bob left at 2:00 sharp. Off came the good stuff and back went the stretched-out stained turtleneck, off went the earrings and necklace. Like some prisoner I'd made up to look spiffy for the video telling the world how happy and well-treated the inmates are here then as soon as the red light's off it's back to the bamboo shoots under the fingernails and pajamas made of nettles. And she's so tiny now. Felt like I was undressing one of my dolls.
____________________
STAFF ON CALL:
Bob, who did a magnificent job installing the new dishwasher.
It is with deep regret that I must inform you that the 4 x 6 horse pad made out of crushed tires that weighs a ton but I thought was going to be perfect to replace where the old dishwasher screwed up the parquet--will be delivered to Scott and Cindy in Middlefield to use under one of their horses, primarily because the thing reeks of old crushed tires and I wouldn't be able to enter the kitchen without heaving.
______________________
HIGHLIGHTS:
- Washing and hoovering out the borrowed Saab which will be returned to its rightful owner on Thursday. I think the last time I washed a car I was in my teens. Didn't much care for it even then as I recall. And I should have been wearing rubber boots, not cowboy.
- Finished the final Peg Lynch Scrap Book, this makes Number 6, full of all the original stuff she destroyed Albums 3, 4 and 5 in order to xerox for her Blue Book Project, a pastime I believe I may have touched on in earlier posts.
- Phoned two more cousins who didn't know who I was, to confirm addresses before giving them great cause for rejoice by revealing that they would soon be a lucky recipient of a Blue Book.
- Found Script #42 ("Two Times Nothing") from the Ethel and Albert sketches from The Kate Smith Show, 1952, missing since January. It was hiding in "Old Time Radio Convention" scripts under catheter attachments and some dead light bulbs and in a folder marked "Buster The Neighbourhood Dog Thief", which is the title of a script. You have to stay on your toes around this place, let me tell you. I was so excited that I came running in to show Bob. He was excited too. That's life in Becket for you. It'll probably be in The Berkshire Eagle tomorrow.
_________________
Still no sign of Odd and now scared to check. Will leave a banana on the bar and two cookies and go to bed. District Nurse Hargreaves, at your service. Actually, I had my heart set on becoming a doctor when I was little. My Great Aunt Elise--OB-GYN, who by the way delivered me, if you were thinking of blaming anyone--was Chief Resident at Women's Hospital in New York and I got to follow her on her rounds a few times. She looked spectacular with her blonde hair in her white coat and black high heels and I thought, yep, this is for me. It was only the maths, chemistry and physics part that put me off. Not to mention those latex models of fetuses and birth canals that lined her stairwell in Bronxville.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
ONE WEEK TODAY
...I'll be home in England, and hopefully asleep. Denis of course has a band call for his new show that night in London so won't be there, but can't be helped. I will have the aptly-named King Size bed to myself and possibly the dog. Bliss. Until the phone rings from Laurel Lake Nursing home in the middle of the night..can't think about that so won't.
Meanwhile, we see a move into high gear here. The pressure is on to complete projects before departure. Just sorted a million photos into MISC RENNING RELATIVES, PEG BABY, PEG YOUNG, PEG OLDER, ODD, FAIRFIELD, BECKET, ALASKA, DOGS, KINGS, FRIENDS, DEAD FRIENDS, FANS, ASSHOLES WE'LL NEVER SEE AGAIN SO WHY ARE WE SAVING and so on, all into sandwich size ziplocs and labeled. Afterwards I had, no exaggeration, 26 plastic storage bins, empty! Thrilled. Who knew. Doesn't take much, anymore. Am now in spiffing mood, enough to crack open the bottle of Prosecco Bonnie gave me last January when I managed to make Peg and Odd's long term care insurance company cough up $80K for Home Care even though it wasn't in the policy. The only reason we are still all in this house and have help.
Three hours at the nursing home with Peg but we finished her address book and managed to pitch two thirds of an extra-giant plastic box filled with addresses, fan mail, pictures of fans, pictures of fans' families, cute cards, not-so-cute-cards, magazine subscription renewal notices from 2008, other essential "keepers"--plus write three more Mother-Daughter Dialogues for her website which we'll record sometime this week. Is the plan.
Tomorrow I have to be there at 8:30 AM, make sure she's been showered, Tina her hairdresser arrives at 9:00 to do her hair, then I do make-up and choose wardrobe and jewelery (and for Peg too) and set her up for a Skype interview with one Liz McCloud at 11:00 AM in the "William Shakespeare" Library at Laurel Lake (a small room with some uninteresting books on a shelf). This is for RadioSpirits to use to promote her Couple Next Door comedy shows, the first 24 of which (out of 755) are coming out on CD end of May and simultaneously going to be run on Sirius XM radio. Not bad for a 97 year old. It would be a good day for me to be nice to her, wouldn't it. Will certainly give it my all.
_________________
STAFF ON DUTY:
Bonnie, who Odd-sat and cleaned the spice shelves and kitchen cupboards and the fridges and the desk area and walked the dog and vacuumed and made out checks and fed Odd lunch and gave him his pills and his nebulizer and was still in a pleasant mood when I arrived home at 4:00.
Terri, who arrived at Laurel Lake just as I was leaving, intending a brief visit but Peg talked her into watching The Way We Were. Can't figure out if she'll need paying for this. She could have said "no, would love to but need to get to Wal-Mart", right? I gave her five old voluminous and expensive outfits of Peg's that Peg would get lost in these days. Maybe she can use for her niece's wedding. Why am I worried about What Terri's Going to Wear. Don't know, but I find I think about it a lot, probably more than she does.
__________________
HIGHLIGHTS:
Daddy, at dinner just now, during "The Green Mile" on Turner Movie Classics, looking across the butcher block at me, mid-bite, and saying "You're beautiful". For one brief moment, I had without exception the most wonderful, kind, not to mention observant father in the whole world. And I looked over at him eating his creamed corn and then his meatloaf, with a spoon, almost consumed by love for him. He's now eating cashew nuts he found on the shelf and they're going all over the floor. And I will have to throw out those Planter's Cashews now, after he's gone to bed, because he's dug into the can and I have yet to see him wash his hands since I got here in March or kin fact comb his hair without me suggesting it. This is the man who used to shower at least twice a day, wouldn't think of going down the hill to the post office without shaving or putting on a sports jacket and cufflinks, and who used to leave a delicious trail of Burberry or Paco Rabanne wafting along the upstairs hallway. I miss that. It was comforting and I felt safe.
Meanwhile, we see a move into high gear here. The pressure is on to complete projects before departure. Just sorted a million photos into MISC RENNING RELATIVES, PEG BABY, PEG YOUNG, PEG OLDER, ODD, FAIRFIELD, BECKET, ALASKA, DOGS, KINGS, FRIENDS, DEAD FRIENDS, FANS, ASSHOLES WE'LL NEVER SEE AGAIN SO WHY ARE WE SAVING and so on, all into sandwich size ziplocs and labeled. Afterwards I had, no exaggeration, 26 plastic storage bins, empty! Thrilled. Who knew. Doesn't take much, anymore. Am now in spiffing mood, enough to crack open the bottle of Prosecco Bonnie gave me last January when I managed to make Peg and Odd's long term care insurance company cough up $80K for Home Care even though it wasn't in the policy. The only reason we are still all in this house and have help.
Three hours at the nursing home with Peg but we finished her address book and managed to pitch two thirds of an extra-giant plastic box filled with addresses, fan mail, pictures of fans, pictures of fans' families, cute cards, not-so-cute-cards, magazine subscription renewal notices from 2008, other essential "keepers"--plus write three more Mother-Daughter Dialogues for her website which we'll record sometime this week. Is the plan.
Tomorrow I have to be there at 8:30 AM, make sure she's been showered, Tina her hairdresser arrives at 9:00 to do her hair, then I do make-up and choose wardrobe and jewelery (and for Peg too) and set her up for a Skype interview with one Liz McCloud at 11:00 AM in the "William Shakespeare" Library at Laurel Lake (a small room with some uninteresting books on a shelf). This is for RadioSpirits to use to promote her Couple Next Door comedy shows, the first 24 of which (out of 755) are coming out on CD end of May and simultaneously going to be run on Sirius XM radio. Not bad for a 97 year old. It would be a good day for me to be nice to her, wouldn't it. Will certainly give it my all.
_________________
STAFF ON DUTY:
Bonnie, who Odd-sat and cleaned the spice shelves and kitchen cupboards and the fridges and the desk area and walked the dog and vacuumed and made out checks and fed Odd lunch and gave him his pills and his nebulizer and was still in a pleasant mood when I arrived home at 4:00.
Terri, who arrived at Laurel Lake just as I was leaving, intending a brief visit but Peg talked her into watching The Way We Were. Can't figure out if she'll need paying for this. She could have said "no, would love to but need to get to Wal-Mart", right? I gave her five old voluminous and expensive outfits of Peg's that Peg would get lost in these days. Maybe she can use for her niece's wedding. Why am I worried about What Terri's Going to Wear. Don't know, but I find I think about it a lot, probably more than she does.
__________________
HIGHLIGHTS:
Daddy, at dinner just now, during "The Green Mile" on Turner Movie Classics, looking across the butcher block at me, mid-bite, and saying "You're beautiful". For one brief moment, I had without exception the most wonderful, kind, not to mention observant father in the whole world. And I looked over at him eating his creamed corn and then his meatloaf, with a spoon, almost consumed by love for him. He's now eating cashew nuts he found on the shelf and they're going all over the floor. And I will have to throw out those Planter's Cashews now, after he's gone to bed, because he's dug into the can and I have yet to see him wash his hands since I got here in March or kin fact comb his hair without me suggesting it. This is the man who used to shower at least twice a day, wouldn't think of going down the hill to the post office without shaving or putting on a sports jacket and cufflinks, and who used to leave a delicious trail of Burberry or Paco Rabanne wafting along the upstairs hallway. I miss that. It was comforting and I felt safe.
Saturday, April 26, 2014
LONG DAY
Gloom descends at about forty minute intervals throughout the day but then leaves as fast as it arrives, like flash floods. I think am just brain tired. I don't remember sitting still until now except for when driving to the nursing home and back. Was dropping by the time I got to Laurel Lake and so when Peg was shuffled off to physio on her walker, I lay down on her bed to listen to Barbara Beckett cough her lungs out behind the curtain and would have closed my eyes but worried someone thinking I was "Margaret" would be in taking my blood pressure any second and buzzers would ring and I'd be whisked off to the ER. I'd just done an hour and a half of Going Over Peg's Address Book with Peg and was trying to calm down. Armed with a red pen, it involved crossing off the Known Dead and Those Who Couldn't Possibly Still Be Alive, plus those whose names meant absolutely nothing to Peg. I kept having to tell her who half of them were. I found this unsettling and saddening. And ever so slightly irritating.
"Gretchen. YOU know, Mama, Cary's daughter. Gretchen. GRETCHEN. In ALASKA!"
"Gretchen...Oh. Was that the one we liked?"
"YES."
"Her last name is what?"
"Bogard."
"Bogard! Since when?"
"SINCE ALWAYS!" and on and on and...all complicated by Peg's habit of writing to people's mothers, specifically doctors' mothers. If the doctor has done something marvelous, see, like made Peg's dentures not hurt, or fixed her tear duct, or aortic valve, she writes a thank-you to their parents or sends flowers. Nice, but the result is that there are nine million entries that say "Mother" or "Parents" but the doctor who belongs to these people is on some other page or not there to begin with.
____________________
HIGHLIGHTS:
- Odd when I got home asking me who the woman is who comes here and nods her head a lot and falls down. I assured him it was no one I could think of offhand but he insisted, even raising his voice: "I KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!" I said I'm sure he did. All I can think is he's remembering someone from when he was at Laurel Lake himself last October.
"Gretchen. YOU know, Mama, Cary's daughter. Gretchen. GRETCHEN. In ALASKA!"
"Gretchen...Oh. Was that the one we liked?"
"YES."
"Her last name is what?"
"Bogard."
"Bogard! Since when?"
"SINCE ALWAYS!" and on and on and...all complicated by Peg's habit of writing to people's mothers, specifically doctors' mothers. If the doctor has done something marvelous, see, like made Peg's dentures not hurt, or fixed her tear duct, or aortic valve, she writes a thank-you to their parents or sends flowers. Nice, but the result is that there are nine million entries that say "Mother" or "Parents" but the doctor who belongs to these people is on some other page or not there to begin with.
____________________
HIGHLIGHTS:
- Odd when I got home asking me who the woman is who comes here and nods her head a lot and falls down. I assured him it was no one I could think of offhand but he insisted, even raising his voice: "I KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!" I said I'm sure he did. All I can think is he's remembering someone from when he was at Laurel Lake himself last October.
He then shouted "DOORBELL!" and "GET THE PHONE!" (Hello? Grand Central Station here!) and I snapped back "I KNOW! I CAN HEAR THEM!" and he banged his table and said "OH SHIT!" then went to take a nap. He seems better now. Except he just asked me if Peg knew where she was. I said I imagined she had a pretty good idea, and made him some eggs.
- Peg telling me today she's going to live to one hundred and ten.
"Mother, you told me years ago you were going to live till 92. What happened?"
"I misinformed you. I feel great."
______________________
STAFF ON CALL:
Bonnie Bonnie Bonnie with whom I could not possibly do without.
_____________________
BACKGROUND MOVIE TO BLOG BY:
Beauty and The Beast - Jean Marais 1946 version in French
______________________
Have just attacked the Peg's Piles on the kitchen table I made yesterday. Sorted and filed ODDS LETTERS TO PEG; PEG'S LETTERS TO ODD & TO HER IN-LAWS; LETTERS FROM PEG'S MOTHER FRANCES TO WHO KNOWS WHO BUT HAVE TO KEEP BECAUSE SHE TALKS ABOUT PEG; SAMUEL FRENCH INC RECEIPTS; PEG'S INCOME SINCE 1937; SOCIAL SECURITY INFO; COMPLETE CAST LISTS FOR ETHEL AND ALBERT SHOWS; SCRIPT BREAKDOWN FROM OLD TIME RADIO CONVENTIONS 1990 - 2013; RADIO MONITOR SCRIPT LISTS; CONTRACTS AND LETTERS OF AGREEMENT; FAN MAIL FROM THE COUPLE NEXT DOOR; and MENUS FROM TRIPS (you will be relieved to know that for the Farewell Dinner aboard the SS Cristoforo Columbo on Wednesday March 25, in 1964 en route to Naples Peg and I had "Glazed bocconcini of roebuck au Sandeman Sherry" and not the "Roman Spoom" whatever that is). I have mailed a first draft of a speech Odd made at Jacqueline and Paul's's wedding to Jacqueline and a letter written in 1943 by Art Chase, a relative, to his widow Joan, pronounced Jo-Anne. I will presently attack all the original scrapbook stuff she "pulled" for her Blue Books--which, incidentally, I have been profusely thanked for by four recipients so far, out of eight.
________________________
DINNER: smart food and olives and nokkleost cheese from Norway. My friend Charlotte has told me to eat protein and greens. Am hoping the olives can be the green part.
- Peg telling me today she's going to live to one hundred and ten.
"Mother, you told me years ago you were going to live till 92. What happened?"
"I misinformed you. I feel great."
______________________
STAFF ON CALL:
Bonnie Bonnie Bonnie with whom I could not possibly do without.
_____________________
BACKGROUND MOVIE TO BLOG BY:
Beauty and The Beast - Jean Marais 1946 version in French
______________________
Have just attacked the Peg's Piles on the kitchen table I made yesterday. Sorted and filed ODDS LETTERS TO PEG; PEG'S LETTERS TO ODD & TO HER IN-LAWS; LETTERS FROM PEG'S MOTHER FRANCES TO WHO KNOWS WHO BUT HAVE TO KEEP BECAUSE SHE TALKS ABOUT PEG; SAMUEL FRENCH INC RECEIPTS; PEG'S INCOME SINCE 1937; SOCIAL SECURITY INFO; COMPLETE CAST LISTS FOR ETHEL AND ALBERT SHOWS; SCRIPT BREAKDOWN FROM OLD TIME RADIO CONVENTIONS 1990 - 2013; RADIO MONITOR SCRIPT LISTS; CONTRACTS AND LETTERS OF AGREEMENT; FAN MAIL FROM THE COUPLE NEXT DOOR; and MENUS FROM TRIPS (you will be relieved to know that for the Farewell Dinner aboard the SS Cristoforo Columbo on Wednesday March 25, in 1964 en route to Naples Peg and I had "Glazed bocconcini of roebuck au Sandeman Sherry" and not the "Roman Spoom" whatever that is). I have mailed a first draft of a speech Odd made at Jacqueline and Paul's's wedding to Jacqueline and a letter written in 1943 by Art Chase, a relative, to his widow Joan, pronounced Jo-Anne. I will presently attack all the original scrapbook stuff she "pulled" for her Blue Books--which, incidentally, I have been profusely thanked for by four recipients so far, out of eight.
________________________
DINNER: smart food and olives and nokkleost cheese from Norway. My friend Charlotte has told me to eat protein and greens. Am hoping the olives can be the green part.
Friday, April 25, 2014
THE GREAT ESCAPE
Only to dinner, and only to the Dreamaway, a roadhouse about 8 minutes away, but still. Amazing what a vodka and tonic and pasta primavera can do to one's mood. David Jenkins' treat, too. David who was going to drop off the 4x6 rubber-horse-mat-soon-to-be-kitchen-flooring if we can figure how to cut the sucker, seems his friend Scott over in Middelfield broke his circular saw trying to do this once. Anyhow we couldn't unload it from the pick-up, too heavy, and we are not wimps (it is HEAVY), so guess will have to enlist help from Outside Bob on Monday. Am starting to be sorry I bought this horse mat.
_________________
STAFF ON CALL:
Terri, who Odd-sat while I hit the Dreamaway, also did some secretarial work and scanning for me. One thing all this caregiving has taught me is how to delegate. In fact I now excel at delegating. If a staff member were here at this very moment, for example, I would delegate one of them to shoot out the television screen at the butcher block where Odd is presently glued to North To Alaska with John Wayne and Ernie Kovacs, at peak volume.
_________________
HIGHLIGHTS:
Went to see Peg today. She is fine but wants to see the dog. She wants us to bring the dog to the nursing home for a visit. I said over my dead body; Bonnie, also here today, said "sure". This is a dog that jumps a foot in the air and disappears around the corner in a panic whenever you: a) drop a tissue; b) call "Come!"; c) turn on the kitchen tap; d) hold out a biscuit; e) push back your chair to leave the table. And about twelve hundred other normal actions. I want no part of leading it into an environment full of wheelchairs, walkers, trolleys, beeping oxygen machines and people with Huntington's disease who, the poor buggers, have no control over their arms and legs and flail around like windmills and are in the lobby a lot. We're going to be peeling this dog off the ceiling. Well, Bonnie will be. I will be having a coffee somewhere.
__________________
WHAT I WOULD LIKE TO STOP DOING:
- Coming over here to this part of the kitchen carrying something to go in the microwave but opening the door to fridge, not the microwave, and trying to work out what I am doing.
- Tripping over the phone cord when I set the phone on Odd's hospital table so he can speak to Peg.
- Wishing I were somewhere else.
_________________
STAFF ON CALL:
Terri, who Odd-sat while I hit the Dreamaway, also did some secretarial work and scanning for me. One thing all this caregiving has taught me is how to delegate. In fact I now excel at delegating. If a staff member were here at this very moment, for example, I would delegate one of them to shoot out the television screen at the butcher block where Odd is presently glued to North To Alaska with John Wayne and Ernie Kovacs, at peak volume.
_________________
HIGHLIGHTS:
Went to see Peg today. She is fine but wants to see the dog. She wants us to bring the dog to the nursing home for a visit. I said over my dead body; Bonnie, also here today, said "sure". This is a dog that jumps a foot in the air and disappears around the corner in a panic whenever you: a) drop a tissue; b) call "Come!"; c) turn on the kitchen tap; d) hold out a biscuit; e) push back your chair to leave the table. And about twelve hundred other normal actions. I want no part of leading it into an environment full of wheelchairs, walkers, trolleys, beeping oxygen machines and people with Huntington's disease who, the poor buggers, have no control over their arms and legs and flail around like windmills and are in the lobby a lot. We're going to be peeling this dog off the ceiling. Well, Bonnie will be. I will be having a coffee somewhere.
__________________
WHAT I WOULD LIKE TO STOP DOING:
- Coming over here to this part of the kitchen carrying something to go in the microwave but opening the door to fridge, not the microwave, and trying to work out what I am doing.
- Tripping over the phone cord when I set the phone on Odd's hospital table so he can speak to Peg.
- Wishing I were somewhere else.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
WINE DINNER
Plus Snyder's Pretzels, Jarlsberg cheese slice, and 8 lemon and garlic olives from Whole Foods. Odd had boiled potatoes and shrimp and hot smoked salmon and cucumber. I was antisocial and let him eat in the den. Peg called in the middle of it. She keeps saying "See you tomorrow!" to him so all I hear is "Aw, I can't wait, Peggy! Marvelous! I will think about it all night!" and then I have to be the bad guy and say no, you're not going in tomorrow, I don't have the right car. Which of course he can't process, because what is a "right" or "wrong" car. Christ those olives are good, just had to go put them away.
So listen to this. Tractor Supply in Dalton. They carry cowboy boots. Who knew? My new favourite store. Spent half an hour trying on 4 different kinds, nearly bought all of them I was so excited. This is after surveying all the various thicknesses of black rubber horse matting they carry, equally exciting, don't get me wrong, and have my eye on a 4 x 6 foot piece of the 3/4 inch deep one for the area between the sink and counter. And which, like my father, does not fit into the borrowed Saab, so David Jenkins will collect it for me tomorrow morning in his truck. I think everyone should know someone who owns a truck. The mat costs $36. Ted, the manager at Tractor Supply, warned me that anyone walking over it could--not necessarily, but could--leave skid marks on the surrounding wood, much like cars in do in auto showrooms (the mat, Ted says, is in fact MADE of crushed tires). None of this has turned me off to the product, mind you, but it's early days yet. Check with me when the kitchen starts looking like Le Mans.
________________
STAFF ON CALL:
Bonny Bonnie being the best.
________________
John Fontaine from Fontaine's Auction House in Pittsfield popped by to value Peg and Odd's silver and see if anything in the house was suitable for flogging at Fontaine's, which is high end. Which Peg and Odd's stuff, for the most part, ain't. He left with a musket made in the Tower of London which has hung over every mantle in our houses since 1951 ($1500 tops), a French brass gilt fire screen ($600?) and two solid silver items, a bowl and a nut dish (25p?). Every other piece of silver turns out to be plate. I gave Bonnie a pair of candlesticks and a platter. Not sure what to do with the rest. Maybe distribute back home to all the gardener-grower types in the village to keep the birds away from their raspberries. Look nicer dangling than those old CDs they use.
Speaking of silver, I am reminded again of a number of pieces, real silver, which have been given as gifts, by a certain lady of a the house, to a certain Old Time Radio fan in Seattle, Tom. Along with about six thousand other things over the past eight years, both valuable and sentimental, at least to me. It seems all you have to do is write her and say you've been a fan since you were fourteen and suddenly she's giving you her father's watch. I like Tom, I do, very much, but I don't like him, say, having the silver Viking Ship from David Andersen's in Oslo which I could sell on eBay for at least $700, which is a good few weeks Staff Salary, and I don't like him having all the Norwegian wood carvings I grew up with and wanted. Apparently one box a week was going out of here to Tom--I'd get the heads up from Staff no longer working here (disagreed with Peg on you name it, such as YET ANOTHER FUCKING BOX TO TOM).
Look. On one hand, I get it. It's her stuff. She has the right to do with it what she likes. But on the other hand, if it were your stuff, and you had only one child, whom you loved and admired and appreciated, wouldn't you at least ASK HER before you spent almost what it cost to send her to Vassar on postage?
Never mind. Except now, last week, no, before she got sick--she made Bonnie take her to Staples to buy 12 more of everything she has already--paper clips, binders, tape and so on--and while she was there she spotted something she thought I'd like, and bought it. A watch, diamante face and leopard print strap that winds around your wrist three times before snapping shut. I actually like it. Plus it came from Mama, Mama who hasn't bought me anything in over ten years because she hardly goes anywhere and doesn't understand the internet. So. I love this watch. LOVE it. And my eyes fill up when I put it on.
Or did. Until yesterday, when I was under instructions to mail the 2 boxes to Tom which had been sitting in her office under her typewriter for I kid you not, a year and a half--plus a new box, packed only a few weeks ago and still needing taping shut. And in this new one, along with half a dozen unread NY Times Review of Books (which she subscribes to so she can MAIL TO TOM), a National Geographic with Eskimos on the cover, and a navy blue fitted jersey sheet--are two watches, like mine, for DONNA, Bonnie says, Tom's wife, and one for their daughter.
So. I'm not special after all. So. Now I'm pissed off but hiding it because Bonnie's helping seal the box and then helps lug them all into my car but I can tell she doesn't trust me--and off I go to the post office in Lee where I open the boot and with my car key slash into the already sealed Boxes 1 and 2 and find it's just more magazines and a book and another sheet and some battery candles. And for one brief moment, there at Lee Post Office, I was very very close to taking those three boxes and depositing them in the large green trash barrel by the front door BUT, I didn't. I mailed the suckers ($46) and then emailed Tom and told him to expect them.
If anyone would like a watch, it's very nice, honest. I know, Staples, but still. You'd like it.
So listen to this. Tractor Supply in Dalton. They carry cowboy boots. Who knew? My new favourite store. Spent half an hour trying on 4 different kinds, nearly bought all of them I was so excited. This is after surveying all the various thicknesses of black rubber horse matting they carry, equally exciting, don't get me wrong, and have my eye on a 4 x 6 foot piece of the 3/4 inch deep one for the area between the sink and counter. And which, like my father, does not fit into the borrowed Saab, so David Jenkins will collect it for me tomorrow morning in his truck. I think everyone should know someone who owns a truck. The mat costs $36. Ted, the manager at Tractor Supply, warned me that anyone walking over it could--not necessarily, but could--leave skid marks on the surrounding wood, much like cars in do in auto showrooms (the mat, Ted says, is in fact MADE of crushed tires). None of this has turned me off to the product, mind you, but it's early days yet. Check with me when the kitchen starts looking like Le Mans.
________________
STAFF ON CALL:
Bonny Bonnie being the best.
________________
John Fontaine from Fontaine's Auction House in Pittsfield popped by to value Peg and Odd's silver and see if anything in the house was suitable for flogging at Fontaine's, which is high end. Which Peg and Odd's stuff, for the most part, ain't. He left with a musket made in the Tower of London which has hung over every mantle in our houses since 1951 ($1500 tops), a French brass gilt fire screen ($600?) and two solid silver items, a bowl and a nut dish (25p?). Every other piece of silver turns out to be plate. I gave Bonnie a pair of candlesticks and a platter. Not sure what to do with the rest. Maybe distribute back home to all the gardener-grower types in the village to keep the birds away from their raspberries. Look nicer dangling than those old CDs they use.
Speaking of silver, I am reminded again of a number of pieces, real silver, which have been given as gifts, by a certain lady of a the house, to a certain Old Time Radio fan in Seattle, Tom. Along with about six thousand other things over the past eight years, both valuable and sentimental, at least to me. It seems all you have to do is write her and say you've been a fan since you were fourteen and suddenly she's giving you her father's watch. I like Tom, I do, very much, but I don't like him, say, having the silver Viking Ship from David Andersen's in Oslo which I could sell on eBay for at least $700, which is a good few weeks Staff Salary, and I don't like him having all the Norwegian wood carvings I grew up with and wanted. Apparently one box a week was going out of here to Tom--I'd get the heads up from Staff no longer working here (disagreed with Peg on you name it, such as YET ANOTHER FUCKING BOX TO TOM).
Look. On one hand, I get it. It's her stuff. She has the right to do with it what she likes. But on the other hand, if it were your stuff, and you had only one child, whom you loved and admired and appreciated, wouldn't you at least ASK HER before you spent almost what it cost to send her to Vassar on postage?
Never mind. Except now, last week, no, before she got sick--she made Bonnie take her to Staples to buy 12 more of everything she has already--paper clips, binders, tape and so on--and while she was there she spotted something she thought I'd like, and bought it. A watch, diamante face and leopard print strap that winds around your wrist three times before snapping shut. I actually like it. Plus it came from Mama, Mama who hasn't bought me anything in over ten years because she hardly goes anywhere and doesn't understand the internet. So. I love this watch. LOVE it. And my eyes fill up when I put it on.
Or did. Until yesterday, when I was under instructions to mail the 2 boxes to Tom which had been sitting in her office under her typewriter for I kid you not, a year and a half--plus a new box, packed only a few weeks ago and still needing taping shut. And in this new one, along with half a dozen unread NY Times Review of Books (which she subscribes to so she can MAIL TO TOM), a National Geographic with Eskimos on the cover, and a navy blue fitted jersey sheet--are two watches, like mine, for DONNA, Bonnie says, Tom's wife, and one for their daughter.
So. I'm not special after all. So. Now I'm pissed off but hiding it because Bonnie's helping seal the box and then helps lug them all into my car but I can tell she doesn't trust me--and off I go to the post office in Lee where I open the boot and with my car key slash into the already sealed Boxes 1 and 2 and find it's just more magazines and a book and another sheet and some battery candles. And for one brief moment, there at Lee Post Office, I was very very close to taking those three boxes and depositing them in the large green trash barrel by the front door BUT, I didn't. I mailed the suckers ($46) and then emailed Tom and told him to expect them.
If anyone would like a watch, it's very nice, honest. I know, Staples, but still. You'd like it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)