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Gloria, my befuddled friend, had a really with-it day today. She was cogent, and knew who was who and what was happening, and able to put together a whole string of related ideas without getting bogged down in the mire of unremembered words and vague concepts. We talked about her husband's health, and other people in the family, and the newspaper, and she went around the house looking at her books and remembering which ones she liked though she can't really quite read anymore. She was less restless too. We eventually went out for a doughnut. The man at the doughnut shop knew her by name and was glad to see her and took her befuddledness in stride -- all the people in Watsonville seem to be like that with her. He did have this vague impression that she was originally from Australia, where her daughter now lives.
Her husband called from the nursing home where he's supposed to be gathering strength to come home and he was fretful and worried about whether he could get the support he needs when he does come home and desperate to get out. "There's no room to do anything," he says. He's used to building houses and grading his own driveway and fixing his own truck and stuff.
I wrote a chunk of the next vignette while I was there, and I could have written more if I didn't have a bout of this nasty thing that's sort of like a headache but doesn't exactly hurt. I used to get them more often. It just shuts the head right down and it makes me sleepy and stupid and kind of subtly ill and really uncomfortable mostly above the eyebrows but all down the middle of my head too. It hasn't completely gone away so I'm going to bed in about fifteen minutes.
I think we're going to have a pirate theme for the awards night banquet for the band. Emma suggested it and when I was watching the band practice marching yesterday there were pirate jokes all through it. So it's a general sickness with them and it may as well be indulged.
Her husband called from the nursing home where he's supposed to be gathering strength to come home and he was fretful and worried about whether he could get the support he needs when he does come home and desperate to get out. "There's no room to do anything," he says. He's used to building houses and grading his own driveway and fixing his own truck and stuff.
I wrote a chunk of the next vignette while I was there, and I could have written more if I didn't have a bout of this nasty thing that's sort of like a headache but doesn't exactly hurt. I used to get them more often. It just shuts the head right down and it makes me sleepy and stupid and kind of subtly ill and really uncomfortable mostly above the eyebrows but all down the middle of my head too. It hasn't completely gone away so I'm going to bed in about fifteen minutes.
I think we're going to have a pirate theme for the awards night banquet for the band. Emma suggested it and when I was watching the band practice marching yesterday there were pirate jokes all through it. So it's a general sickness with them and it may as well be indulged.