Time flies when you are living Groundhog Day. I seriously have to check the calendar to orient myself.
Mama Drama Update, for thems that cares: On Sunday, I visited my mother and gave her the weekly pep talk/lecture: You need to Eat, Rest, and do PT, because you do want to get out of here, don't you?
On Tuesday, had conference call with nursing home staff, who reported that my mother signed the papers to do PT.
On Wednesday, got voicemail from floor nurse - she'd refused PT. Could I talk to her?
What, again? I don't pull any punches when I talk to my mother, she's mildly confused when her oxygen levels drop but is otherwise totally aware. On Sunday, I flat out said, "If you want to ever get out of here you MUST do PT and get your strength back, or you are going to end up too weak to get out of that damn bed!" I have been saying this for months. I don't know what else there is to say! So I called the nurse back and we had a shared frustration session, and I told her to feel free to be as blunt as she wants to be with her - I am. I think "Your ass is never going to get out of that bed if you don't!" is pretty damn blunt, dontcha think? Maybe hearing that from an RN will have a better effect.
When I visit tomorrow, I will bring a secret weapon. He has four legs and is Bossy. He can be her personal trainer. I asked on the conference call if there were any rules or special permissions to bring pets, and no, it's pretty relaxed - if family trusts the dog, that's good enough. So Murphy is doing his second nursing home tour. He rocked the house when his Daddy was in the nursing home for rehab early in the cancer tour. I swear, it was like walking down the hall with Elvis. He's gonna love this, and maybe his Grandma will listen to him when she won't listen to the humans.
I have another crazy busy weekend ahead. But yesterday when I was dragging the trash out at 5:30 a.m., I felt something I haven't felt in a long time - a breath of not hot air. I won't say cool air. You have to really appreciate subtle, nuanced weather changes to notice the approach of fall here. The first sign of fall is not a crisp, clear day, but a morning when the air isn't like hot dog breath. It's still hot at 5:30 in the morning, but your clothes don't instantly stick to you and you can't hear your freshly styled hair frizzing. Ahhh. Yesterday, the large panting dog finally shut its mouth, and it wasn't That Miserable. Which, in Florida, is a break in the weather. Fall. Ahhh.
In other news, Boy is moving back to Asheville and put down a deposit (rental, he's a product of our economy, he can't afford to buy it) on a 20s era bungalow in West Asheville, aka the fun side of town. I called dibs on the backyard shed. I swear, I'm homesick for a place I've never lived.
As soon as the move is done, I have a couple of pairs of socks to send. And cat toys for the cat who hates me when I visit. I don't hold a grudge. If I did, the worthless puking things in this house wouldn't still live here.
Back when my husband was very sick, I got on a felted mouse kick. I swear, I made dozens. I still have them, felted but not stuffed. So I decided it was time for a massive felting party - I am going to stuff and distribute felted mouses to the masses. Cousin C's cat, her sons' cats, my son's roommate's cat, my boss's cats, everycat gets high on me. It's part of emptying out the house.
More is going on in my life, but again, one must be discreet and only post the blogworthy. Let's just say the economy is not giving me warm job security fuzzies, and leave it at that.
I'm too old for this shit. I think I'll go live in a shed in Asheville and get a job in a coffee shop. The shed has electricity!