Give me a bumper sticker.

Mean …
Senile people suck!

Heh. Can I say that? No, I suppose not. I mean, she’s my grandmother and all. But it’s just that, well, she’s always been ornery (what a great English word!), but now… god help us, she’s senile AND ornery. My dad is seemingly a man of infinite resourcefulness, but she seems to have even HIM at his wits end.

It’s like … karma … for all the senile jokes I’ve made over the years. =P

So… yeah. Life will calm down a LOT in that regard (we hope!) once the grandmother is comfortably settled in her new assisted living facility.

That is all.

Curious Degrees of Difference

Man. Being sick is miserable. Heh.

It’s curious, really, how two degrees difference in the temperature under one’s tongue can humble one from running miles to agonizing over trivial distances. Huh.

I return from Duluth with a single poignant question: is our high standard of living in the West (and America specifically) built on the backs of the impoverished, manufacturing East? Or, rather, is our high standard of living a consequence of our exceptional productivity, via science and technology?

Or, asked a different way, does a sustainable pattern of living more closely resemble India with its crowded quarters, vegetarian diet and clambering auto-rickshaws, or America with its wood-built houses, red-meat diet and Volvos?

Or, asked a different way, is our prosperity a result of our vaunted Western values, or simply the exploitation of others?

I am sorry to say…

that

Your people I do not understand
So to you I wish to put and end
And you’ll never hear surf music again.

er… no. Thanks, Jimi. That’s actually exactly what I had in mind. But no.

rather, that I’m leaving you. And by you, I do mean you, chere reader. But don’t despair– it’s only for a spell. A few days. Then I’ll be back. Eventually. Probably. I promise.

It was a thought process something like this: “oh, the airlines. Baggage restrictions. carry-on bag blah. Blah not checking blah blah. Along which blah… which blah should I take my laptop in? Blah blah laptop? Wait… do I need my laptop. No. NO! Eureka! NO LAPTOP FOR ME!!! … blah blah blah.”

Heh. Well, I’m excited. For some reason. Probably because I hate the stupid thing.

Or maybe because I received my copy of Thus Spake Zarathustra tonight. “Smellest thou not already the shambles and cookshops of the spirit? Steameth not this city with the fumes of slaughtered spirits? / Seest thou not the souls hanging like limp dirty rags? — And they make newspapers also from out of these rags!”

But anyhow. I’m headed up to Duluth (MN…) to 1) cheer my dad as he runs in Duluth’s annual Grandma’s Marathon and 2) speaking of Grandmas, to pack and move my … grandmother.

My grandmother, you see, is getting old and (ostebsibly) losing her mind (like Meekyung, I suppose–at least the getting old part =P). 86 years, in fact. And it’s time for her to move to a retirement home, of sorts. Oh, yes. Kicking and screaming, perhaps. She’s managed to convince herself that she has Alzheimer’s. She doesn’t, it seems, but it’s like this: if you live alone in a rather-too-large house, your husband and friends having long since died off, and you spend your days thinking your foot hurts, eventually, OW!, you’ll probably manage to convince yourself. Your foot won’t actually hurt, but you’ll act like it does– hobbling around your house: “OW!”–step–“OW!”–step–“OW!”–step–etc.

Now convince yourself that you have Alzheimer’s. Ya. How do you act? Rather erratic, I suppose. The sort of erratic that lets you appear, unannounced and unexpected, at the DIA airport for your grand-daughter’s wedding. The sort of erratic that, when your daughter, while helping you fill out some papers, asks you for your social security number you stubbornly reply, “I don’t give that out over the phone.”

… So yeah. It’s time for “the home.”

Unfortunately, as much as my grandmother is willing to convince herself that her mental fitness is failing, she doesn’t seem likely to convince herself that she needs help. She’s stubborn. And a little off-center. What a way. … What a way.

Anyhow. Such my adventures will be. So to speak. I’ll be back Sunday morning. Presumably. Presumably with my grandmother. No one really knows, though. So… wish us luck. =)

(I’ll have my mobile, so if you need/want to chat, try the digits, rather than the letters @ more letters dot com thing. Ya.)

efil ecnediser

Let’s see… I suppose I’m overdue for one of those boring but obligatory personal updates. So. Without further ado…

My sister, Jenny, was married on Sunday. The ceremony was, of course, beautiful–an outside wedding at a flowering and mountainous bed & breakfast outside of Loveland–and the reception, of course, would have been a lot more enjoyable if I had any social graces whatsoever. Huh. Her (now) husband is a super solid guy, though, and their mutual happiness and excitement radiated throughout the event.

They’re now on their way to Lubbock, Texas, where Tory will complete his board exams and year of residency before going into private practice in pain management.

I might note that my grandmother’s attendance was appreciated, but entirely unexpected. Unexpected as in, as far as anyone knew, she wasn’t coming to the wedding. Or, at least as far as anyone knew until 10:00 or so on Thursday morning, when she called from the DIA airport wondering where my dad was. Apparently, she decided, at the last minute to come. She got up at 4:00am and took a cab to the airport in Duluth, bought the last seat on the plane, and was in Denver by 8:00am. Unbeknownst to anyone, much less my father, who she expected to pick her up at the airport. Heh.

Admittedly, she’s losing her mind a bit– all old people do, I guess– but she’s still getting around pretty well (as her sudden appearance in Denver would suggest).

In other news… there is no other news. That is all.