Mike's death; Betty's life...

Monday, March 2, 2026

Saturday, June 18, 2022

While I slept beautifully, I woke up in a foul mood. Yvette came up to hang up some sheets on my laundry line. She asked if she should take down some sheets I had hanging. I said, "That's okay," meaning leave them be. I'll take care of it. She understood the opposite. She came in with the sheets in a tumble and tried to fold them. I was so irritated. I told her to leave them be. I would take care of it. I had a system for folding sheets while on the line. It wasn't what I said but the irritation in my tone. God, was I ever grouchy. I easily folded the sheets using the bed for assistance. Yvette had tried to use her height, close to six feet, to fold them. That didn't work. She was dragging them on the floor.

I was still on the walker. Carrying things presented a problem. Today I dropped my computer. It landed flat on the tiled floor. We'll see how it does. Nothing showed up immediately, but there's always a possible slow burn.

I ironed two sheets today. I finished ironing one set. I was afraid to put them back in the zippered plastic bag for storage because of the high humidity. It was the rainy season, but the amount of rain verged on the ridiculous. The downpour was so intense that it overflowed the gutters. The rain bounced off the pavement. If you had stepped out into the torrent, you would have been soaked in a minute flat. It would have been the same as having a bucket of water thrown on you.

I had my first acupuncture appointment since my surgery. I'd been reluctant; I was concerned about over-stimulating the surgical leg and causing a blood clot to go on the move. I have to take baby aspirin twice a day for a month. I have been careful not to apply pressure to that leg and overstimulate it. The acupuncturist mainly worked on the right lower leg and some on the lower left. It felt okay. She applied the needles to both those areas. She listed all the issues she addressed. She must have named six. I don't remember all of them. I do remember her listing detox as one of them. I do believe that some of my constant exhaustion is due to that. Not just from the hydrocodone but from the spinal block and the propanol used to knock me silly. Possibly the ibuprofen and the Tylenol I continued to take too. In the past, if I couldn't sleep, I might take one Tylenol. That would knock me out. I wasn't used to regularly taking that and am chemically sensitive.

My appetite was returning. I was wildly hungry in the midafternoon. I scrambled three eggs, two slices of the sourdough rye from Sundog bakery, and a healthy dose of Hersey's milk chocolate nuggets with whole almonds from the stash Dorothy sent me. My appetite for chocolate was returning. That was a measure of my improved health.

Alexandra stopped by to pick up the game she brought over for Sidney and her final check. She visited for a while. I had just awakened from one of my many naps. She sat on the floor while I lay on the sofa, and we chatted. She's a bright girl interested in many things. She was a pleasure to talk to.

When I spoke to my friend Jean earlier in the day, she recommended the movie, Dreamer. It was a feel-good movie with Chris Christopherson, Kurt Russell, and Dakota Fanning, with a cameo role for Elizabeth Shue- a damn good cast. The film had too many unrealistic premises for me to enjoy it. One or two I can handle; this had five or six.

Some people object to the false premise in Bridgerton that the nobility received black people at the time of King George III and Queen Charlotte. They're concerned some people might believe it was that way. This is fiction, and it is presented as such. No one is suggesting this is a documentary. Contemporary historical dramas always have some anachronistic touches. Some I barely notice; some are more difficult to tolerate. The independence of women in the series Reign is too much. Color blind casting jars on my nerves. I have to wonder why. They cast white people as blacks in the early movies. That never bothered me. Why can I barely notice factual miscasting in one context but not another? I believe color-blind casting is good because it gives us all a chance to see people of color as people, not just people of color. if someone takes the fiction for fact, . . . . . . what can I say? I understand why people are confused when someone argues the holocaust never happened. Someone is asserting this information as the truth. That creates confusion. Fiction is fiction, a what-if twist on history.

I wasn't tired at night. I waited till 11 pm to go to bed. My bedtime is closer to 9:30 usually, but then I get up at 5:30. I kept those hours when I went to Bikram regularly. Yvette had driveway yoga three times a week. I hadn't done Bikram since Covid started. Yvette cut her classes back to two days a week, then one, and none for the past several months. Now, I stay in bed at least till 6 am, sometimes till seven, instead of getting up at five-thirty.

Friday, June 17, 2022

I think I slept through most of the night without interruption. That was rare. I woke up before 5:30 and lay in bed meditating. I would have be better off getting up and sitting in a chair for that.

Scott came to collect Elsa to take her for a walk. He and Yvette walked her two dogs with Elsa. He takes the two little ones, Little and Elsa, who look alike at first glance. Yvette takes Linear, who’s bigger than the two little ones together. Scott said Elsa ignored a little dog they passed. She only barks at bigger dogs. No, she barks at any dog she hasn’t had contact with. From Scott’s description, I knew the little dog was Coco, a dog Elsa was familiar with.

I published the June 17, 2021, update to the public blog. The numbers fluctuate between the twenties and the fifties. A large number of visitors are coming from China and now India. Huh? Has another English language teacher discovered my blog, or is this a bot at work? Then I took a nap.

B called. Did I need anything from town? He is diligent about watching out for me. He will stay on the island instead of returning to the mainland to help care for his father. His father’s second wife will be pitching in to help his current wife take care of his bedridden dad. Harmony between the various factions of the family is fantastic. I have a similar relationship with Mike’s first wife. We consider each other sisters. She is one of the bonuses from my marriage to Mike. The other major ones were Damon, his wife Cylin, their son August and Mike’s niece, Shivani, and as an extra bonus, Shivani’s son Sidney.

I washed the second set of queen sheets from guests past and finished ironing the first set I washed. Soon, I’d have all the laundry done. I still have to vacuum and wash floors. The carpets are littered with small bits of paper from Sidney’s drawing and cutting projects.

The woman who delivered the flowers earlier this week from Dorothy was back at my door. Now, I recognized her. Who was this from? My financial advisor. Wow! I texted him immediately and sent a photo. Some of the blooms and delicate greens were wilted. I sent him a photo and thanked him. I tried to arrange the display, so the wilting didn’t show. Later in the day, it occurred to me to check the water. I suspected the arrangement was fine when placed in the car for delivery. Because the container was shallow, they must have dumped most of the water. I added more. The flowers perked up. It is a lovely arrangement with two sets of greens planted in soil. I hope I can maintain them.

I called my friend Carol Zim who lives on the east coast. She and John were just leaving the house to get a sundae at a local ice cream and chocolate parlor. She said the topping was particularly good there. I spoke to both Carol and John until they got into the store. Carol took it off speaker as a courtesy to the other patrons. She described how John offered her the last of the sundae. When they got in the car, Carol put the phone back on speaker. John complained that Carol had eaten the last of the ice cream without offering him some. I participated in this family feud in a fun way. I teased John, saying he should have spoken if he wanted more after offering it to Carol. She agreed. Then John said it was their routine for him to offer her the last and her to save some for him. I inferred Carol had broken with convention. For me, it was all in good fun. I sure hope it was for them too.

Jean called to tell me about an interview she heard with the author of the Bad Guys, Aaron Blabey. He said he talked to several studios. He decided on DreamWorks because “Damon shared his vision.” It was Damon’s rapport with the guy that did it. The film is a winner. Damon is a winner. Jean said Blabey only used Damon’s first name because we all know who Damon is. I am so happy for Damie Doo’s success. (Doo is not his last name.)

I ironed the white fitted bottom sheet. Ironing the sheets on the bed is a breeze, provided the hot iron doesn’t hit the fleece blanket and melt it.

I watched Stay Sweet, Pray and Obey on Netflix, about a fundamentalist Mormon enclave with an autocratic leader they considered God’s representative on earth. They had several interesting theories. First off, theirs was the only true religion. The men made it to heaven by having three wives and producing many children. The women made it there by always being sweet and obedient to the will of their husbands. The community has been as large as 10,000 members. The show is about the legal action against the organization for sexual child abuse, forcing underage girls to have sex in general, no less with much older men they have no interest in. The advantage to a society like that is secure membership. Those who fled because of their treatment miss the companionship of their siblings and fellow wives. It sounds like the original hunter-gather groups were egalitarian. So sad that practice doesn’t continue. Instead, one leader, male as a rule, rises up and assumes total control. It usually leads to some disturbing sexual practices.

Thursday, June 16, 2022

I slept like a baby last night. Ah, back to my wonderful sleep pattern. Scott walked Elsa this morning. She wasn't too keen to go out with him. He had to grab her and get the harness on. She cooperated then and went out with him. The changed circumstances disoriented her; I was on a walker and couldn't take her out, and Scott was taking her away from me. Whenever I sat in my old-lady chair, she sat in the frame of the walker as within a forcefield.

I had an appointment with Shelly this morning. I recited my recovery adventures from my total hip replacement, including my passive suicidal feelings induced by the hydrocodone. I would lie in bed, indifferent to everything, including continued life.

I talked to Shelly about an underlying sadness, primarily because I couldn't do anything right. I spent my life pushing myself over speed bumps to get myself to do most things other than the routine, brush my teeth and wash the dishes. Even cleaning presents a challenge.

This is an old problem. My mother would never allow me to do anything. I couldn't do it correctly. She let me, actually insisted I made my bed when I came home from camp, having learned to do it correctly. I was a master of the hospital corner, also known as the army corner. Anyone born after the advent of fitted sheets has no idea what I'm talking about. Before fitted sheets, we had to fold the corners of the bottom sheets in a specific way to ensure they didn't slide all over the place. Those corners served the same function as the corners of fitted sheets do now. I loved making the bed with the hospital corners. It was a skill. I was thrilled to be allowed to do something.

My mother's constant criticism weighed on me. She had a variety of reasons for dishing it out. At the end of her life, I learned she thought this is what a good parent does for a child; criticize and never compliment. She believed it was bad for a child to hear praise from a parent. It was probably the way she was raised. Did she notice it made her feel lousy as a child? I know there is a culture of parenting that argues life is tough, and it is the parent's job to prepare the child for that life by constantly beating them down so they learn to survive it. The other extreme is the belief it's a parent's job to convince their child they can do wrong and protect them from all disappointment and pain. As with all extremes, both do harm.

Today I saw a different possibility motivating my mom's actions. She was afraid that I would be better than her. My father articulated that idea. I was twelve when he said," One day, the student surpasses the teacher." He sounded sad at the prospect. If I held his values, I would be sad too.

My sister and I were downright rude to our paternal grandfather, who sat in our home every single day for years. We lived in a twelve-story building about half a mile from where he lived. Every morning he would come to our home and sit in the living room. I remember our parents sitting us down, telling us to treat him better. One of us, probably me, asked why. My father's answer had something to do with who he had once been, having to do with being a successful businessman. I didn't question that explanation at the time. Neither did I think that was a good reason to treat him with respect in the present. It took me years to hear the values my parents were espousing. Holy jumping frogs! The old man deserved respect because he was because all humans deserve our basic courtesy in the present moment for what they are now.

Back to my mom: I could see that she would have felt threatened by me. Not because I was so amazing, but because of her insecurities and a parent's tendency to see the firstborn as "perfect," at least the second coming. With my father's training, I was his intellectual companion rather than her. (I can't recall an adult filling that role for him.) My mother sat at his feet and admired his 'knowledge' of languages, history, and the arts. I was my dad's intellectual muse. Again around the age of twelve, he told me how women were treated in ancient Greece. Wives were uninteresting chattel who attended to domestic issues. The interesting women were the temple prostitutes who were the intellectual companions of the great minds of Greece. I got the message. I'm sure my mom did too. She had to destroy me. She tried.

I don't remember the complete visualization. It had to do with confronting my mom on her hostile intent toward me in the name of self-defense and experiencing my anger at her. No, I don't think she admitted the self-defense part. She knew something was wrong with me; she could feel it. She had to make sure I changed so people didn't hate me. Her self-awareness was close to zero. It wasn't her thing.

The neighbor who went out especially to buy me my requested red raspberry jam came to visit. I put her off for a while. I didn't know her very well and felt she could be overwhelming. Indeed. She flooded me with too much information. I have another neighbor who does that. People in the neighborhood tend to avoid him. I have determined that I can tell him to back off. Once I learned he responded to boundary cues, I could enjoy him so much more. He is a wealth of knowledge, much of it interesting.

Damon called on Friday and Saturday immediately after the operation and not again for a week and a half. It made me sad. I knew he was busy. He was traveling, visiting friends, one for a destination wedding and one for a destination fiftieth birthday party. He also stopped off to see his mom.

Jean, Damon's mom, had back surgery in February. It was a major deal. She spent three weeks in a skilled care facility. Her recovery has been slow and labored. Damon and Cylin made sure that his mom and step-dad got out of the house. They went to a nearby park. Jean told me about it.

Jean described reading from a diary Damon kept when he was eight or nine. They laughed together at the entries. Jean was so happy with the visit and her wonderful son. Damon was doing well as a husband, a father, a producer at DreamWorks Animation, and an all-around human being, except for his failure to contact me directly during the last week and a half.

He argued that he knew I was okay when I confronted him on his call today. His behavior made me feel like an object to be monitored rather than a human being needing human contact. He said he contacted Shivani, my niece, who stayed with me. I argued unless he was preparing a case for my mental incompetence so he could enforce his Power of Attorney, there was no reason he couldn't have called me instead. I was perfectly capable of giving him the information about my well-being. He argued that they had sent a card, and Cylin had texted me to find out how I was. That was from all of them. Cylin did a lot; she stepped up to the plate, texted me, and bought a get-well card she had Damon and August sign.

Cylin argued on Damon's behalf. Yes, he was busy, but he could answer a text of mine about two pieces of mail I sent him. Why couldn't he also text, "How are you doing?" It must have been that question mark that put it over the top.

I wrote Cylin detailing all the little ways she kept in touch with me and how much I appreciated it, but she was no substitute for him, and he was no substitute for her.

Linguists speak of scripted stroke patterns. "Hello. How are you?" "Fine, thanks. And you." "Okay." That is a meaningless exchange. The words communicate almost nothing. We don't expect an accurate account of how the other person is. If they do launch into a precise description, it comes as a surprise. The scripted exchange is there to reinforce the connection. "I see you. I acknowledge you as someone with whom I am supposed to have this exchange, someone who is part of my social circle." It's a small thing but also a significant way of maintaining social connections. We acknowledge each other through this stroke pattern.

I finished Judy's delicious chicken soup tonight.

Wednesday, June 15, 2022

Last night was the first night of my life when I didn't get a bit of sleep. Yes, I had some agitating thoughts, but it didn't feel like that was the problem. I can usually calm my mind. I concluded I was in withdrawal from those damn drugs. Yesterday, I was my old self, energetic. Last night I had moved beyond that to just plain hyper. B called to wish me a good day. I told him how I was feeling. He said my conclusion sounded right. He said I would be hyper, crash, sleep it off, and finally even out.

Besides being awake, I was in pain. I didn't feel I could take a non-narcotic painkiller because I was on an empty stomach. The moment I got food into me, I took one of the pills. Then I set my alarm for eleven am when I could take my morning aspirin.

I put one set of linens in the laundry and hung them on the line. I wrapped a sheet around my neck and hung up the available parts. It worked. I will use this method in the future. Now I have to find the plastic cases where I had the linens stored, marked Q for queen-sized.

Scott carried the two vases with flowers from the dining room into the kitchen and put them in the sink. They were in desperate need of tending. At some point during the day, I threw out the withered bouquets, saving those flowers I could. I also cleaned the table of all the fallen petals. I had been putting off doing the cleaning. I did a little at a time. Having at least one hand on the walker at all times limits me.

Melissa called again. Tomorrow morning, she is leaving early for Australia. She volunteers as an OBGYN in the Outback several times during the year. She will be gone until mid-July.

Sharry called. Would it be okay if she took her massage table? She stored it here. It used to be in the guest room. I used it when my acupuncturist came and sometimes when Yvette did some work on me. Yvette got hold of some older tables a massage therapist was getting rid of and stored one up here. The vinyl was cracked, but a blanket under a cover sheet compensated for that. Sharry stored her table in a corner of the library. She now had a client in a bad car accident and wanted weekly treatments at home. Sharry could leave her table there. She wanted to make sure it wouldn't be inconvenienced. No worries. She arrived half an hour later. The table was where she had left it. A few minutes later, she returned. She said the headrest was better than the one she had. It must be one Yvette had ordered. Could she change them out? Of course.

Lutz stopped by to say hello. I had him close the door to the guest room Sharry had left open and retrieve a ball from under the sofa for Elsa. I asked him more questions about using vinegar as a weed killer. He was the one who turned me on to using 30% vinegar from Home Depot instead of the 5% food grade which I had been using. We should use it on days when you have 24 hours without rain. That's not possible now. We're in the rainy season. He said it only needed three to four hours. That may be a stretch.

He told me to check the weather and have the gardeners come on a day when rain is not predicted. I told him they tell me when they were coming. He commented they were working for me; I could tell them when to come. Not really. They have other clients. I imagine they have to move through the list to ensure they see us all on time. (As I write this, I thought I could ask them to check the weather forecast and adjust when they come here.) He also warned me that I'd better tell the neighbors the property would smell of vinegar for a while. I hoped this would work. I was well stocked now. I had six bottles of 30% vinegar and nine of 5%. I must mix them at a 1 to 3 ratio, one 30% to three 5%.

I finished watching Operation Mincemeat during the day and looked for something else to watch. I tried Versailles and some other shows. Everything was too edgy for me. Not interested in greedy, mean people. I came across Summerland. The main character is a misanthrope, nasty to children, but didn't seem like the type to go out of her way to hurt anyone. I checked the plot. It sounded good to me.

Tuesday, June 14, 2022

I woke up feeling like my old self. Being alive and moving about in this world seemed interesting again.

I worked on the blog and updates, trying to catch up. There were days I did almost nothing except post an entry on the public blog.

I finally did two loads of laundry. I hung the clothes on the line and took them off myself. Yay for me!

I had a session with the Step Up Tutoring tech support to see why I couldn't access my Step Up email account. I thought the program had cut me off because I wasn't tutoring a child. But no. It was just some technical glitch, a Microsoft update, no doubt a changed format that confused me. I now could see the names of the three participants from yesterday. I emailed them to Julia to let her know they had fulfilled their obligation to work with one of us, providing extra help.

Jean, my Hanai sister, called. She and her husband met with their financial advisor, who told them to get their money out of the stock market. They will contribute to the crash. She advised me to do the same. She would also contact Damon. Damon and I have the same financial advisor. He takes a more optimistic approach. I am pessimistic about all financial options besides hiding money under the mattress. Even that isn't very certain. If we fall into spiraling inflation like Venezuela, the money under the mattress will quickly be gone too. I can't imagine a safe course of action.

Melissa called. She had been calling every day to check on me. She had been a great source of information.

Judy and Paulette stopped by as promised. Paulette dropped off a supply of Kangen water. Since she's been delivering it while I was recuperating, we both realized it would be a good idea if she had a set of empty bottles with her. Then she could deliver the full ones and pick up the empties. That would reduce her visits to one instead of the two she had been doing, picking up empties, filling them, and then dropping them off again.

Judy and Paulette also picked up the toys Adam had lent us for Sidney. Kelly had given us a box of toys too. Since she only wanted the books back, I told them to take those toys too. If their seven-year-old is too old to play with them, they have a rambunctious almost-two-year-old who's just about ready for anything.

Then there was the food Shivani had bought for Sidney, which I would never eat. They left with three loaded shopping bags. As they left, I said, "And don't ever say I never did anything for you." it was a tagline I used with Mike as a joke. He never accused me of doing nothing for him. Not that he didn't have his complaints. But don't we all have complaints about each other? There is no 100% guarantee.

Darby called. Could she drop by to deliver some food? She said it was good to hear me be my old self. When she spoke to me on the phone, I sounded despondent. I was. I was passively suicidal, meaning dying sounded like a good option, but I had no plans for making it happen. It was those damn drugs. I have no idea why someone becomes a drug addict. Darby dropped off two oranges, two ripe limes from her garden, and a whole bar of that delicious dark chocolate.

While I sat in my old-lady chair, Darby sat in the matched one. My leaning tower of Sidney was right next to her. It was a tower Sidney built out of jumbo Lego blocks. It was an architectural wonder. It stayed up when it shouldn't. It leaned, but it never fell over. It was whimsical. I loved it. Darby kept poking at it. She wanted to straighten it out. It fell over and fell apart. Before she left, she put the pieces back together. Her construction looked like a metropolis at the end of the 21st century. No whimsy there. I doubt an adult could create what five-year-old Sidney did. I miss my leaning tower of Sidney.

When Judy came over, she delivered some of her homemade chicken soup. Now, that sounded just delicious. I had it for dinner, along with the cheese-filled muffin she provided. Naturally, I only finished about half of it. I never have a huge appetite, but it'd had shrunken considerably since the operation. I assumed it was the drugs, and this, too, would pass.

I watched Operation Mincemeat on Netflix. Someone recommended it to Dorothy. It is a period piece about a trick the British played on the Germans during WWII to divert their attention from an intended target. It was successful by the skin of their chinny, chin chins.

Monday, June 13, 2022

Today was Dorothy's 77th birthday. She had the pleasure of spending it holding her second grandson Eli born on May 22. She was in Seattle helping Karin with childcare. Besides the baby, there was three-year-old Sam. So far, both were good kids, reasonably easy to deal with.

Last night, I woke up in the wee hours of the morning and couldn't go back to sleep. I had been sleeping much; needing less wasn't a surprise. However, I also suffered sciatic pain. I ran out of hydrocodone pills on Saturday night. It finally dawned on me I could take a Tylenol. I did. It helped. I am slow to consider taking pain medication. I fell back to sleep and put in another several hours.

I had my follow-up appointment with Dr. Salassa, my surgeon, this morning. It was scheduled for 10:30. When it dawned on me that this would conflict with my Reading and Writing office hours for Step Up Tutoring, I contacted the doctor's nurse to change the appointment. She told me to come in early. Yvette drove me. She came up at 7 am to check on me when she heard from Scott that I wasn't up yet.

Before I left, I created a sign for the office hours participants if I didn't make it back in time, saying, "Sorry. I got held up at a doctor's appointment. Try again in half an hour." I joined the Zoom meeting controlled by Step Up. At 11 am, I would be allowed in. I placed the sign participating tutors would see.

Yvette and I left around twenty to eight. As we turned onto Kaiminani St., my cell beeped. When I saw it was from Scott, I told Yvette to pull over. I knew one of us had forgotten something. Oh, yes. Yvette got her purse, etc. We turned around and headed back.

Yvette dropped me off at the entrance to the Kaiser clinic. She had a bag into which we packed my water bottle, my bag of whole-grain taco chips, a tangerine, a book, and a small blanket. You wonder why I would want a blanket.

Kaiser clinic is kept at meat locker temperatures. I asked why they kept it so cold at my last medical appointment. The doctor answered, "To torture us." The true answer was that they have trouble regulating the temperature with the radical temperature changes in Hawaii. The evenings are almost always cool. However, if the sun is full out, it can be intense. The building isn't well insulated. I warned Yvette last night to dress appropriately. Employees regularly wear hoodies and winter jackets. It is freezing cold. I had a hoody on with shorts. I took a blanket in anticipation of having to sit there till 10:30 for my actual appointment.

I had to check in at reception first. I needed to get on the line instead of using the kiosk because I needed an X-ray first. Two people were being served, and four were ahead of me, waiting in line. I noticed everyone was wearing a mask. I hadn't donned a mask for eleven days. Masks? What are those? I asked a passing nurse if she knew where I could get one. She was in a hurry on another chore but told me to ask reception. The woman behind me volunteered to ask. I texted Yvette to tell her she would need one. After dropping me off, she went to Starbucks for a coffee.

After checking in, I headed to the bathroom. It was the first time I had used the automatic door opener. Wrestling with that heavy door with a walker would have been a challenge. The locking system was new. It was digital. I had to press a button. When it turned green, the door was locked. When I was done, I tried to press the button again to open the door. That didn't work. I tried cranking the handle. That didn't work. I pressed the automatic opener again and exited. There was someone else in line. I told him what I had discovered about opening the lock. Someone might spend more time than I did in distressing confusion, wondering how to get out of the bathroom.

I made it down to X-ray. My wait wasn't long. The X-ray technician and I are bosom buddies by now; I've been there so many times. I asked her the one question I hadn't so far. What was her name? June. Was she born in June? No, April. When I had my last hip X-ray, I said I hoped not to see her again except at Safeway. When I greeted her this morning, I said, "You knew I would be back." She nodded. This post-surgical X-ray is standard.

June is one of those lucky humans who loves the work she does. She planned to be a lawyer but discovered she couldn't stand the people in the profession. A family friend directed her to radiology, and she was happy as a lark. I asked her if she knew the history of X-ray machines. The one she used was a far cry from what I remember in the 40s or 50s. I don't know when I got my first X-ray. She said she made a point of forgetting that information the moment she passed the test on the subject. When she saw that Dr. Salassa was my surgeon, she took a picture of my lower abdomen because she knew the doctor preferred that shot.

As I walked to the elevator to go upstairs for my appointment with the surgeon, Yvette arrived. She took the stairs; I grabbed the elevator. We hunkered down for the wait. A nurse stuck her head out several times, "Pamela?" No, Pamela. Yvette and I were the only ones there. I asked Yvette to grab her the next time she stuck her head out to ask if I could get in early to see Dr. Salassa. The nurse returned a few minutes after Yvette spoke to her and said I would be seen in a few minutes. There was no one else there. I suspect Dr. Salassa had just arrived.

Yvette and I went in together. I had been complaining about the aftercare information I had received. I was damned pissed about how poor it was, but I didn't want to be brutal on Dr. Salassa. I knew whatever the problems were, they were systemic not only at Kaiser but throughout the whole surgical profession. Being forthcoming about the impact of surgery is not the norm. My hanai sister, Jean, was not told to be flat on her back in a skilled nursing facility after she was discharged from the hospital. And then she wasn't told it would be at least two weeks before she could go home. It's outrageous. Surgery is the last holdout for informed consent. People say, "If surgeons told people what was involved in recovery, no one would have surgery."

The other excuse surgeons use for not being forthcoming is, "Everyone is different." True. But the good doctor had no trouble telling me, "If you live fifteen more years, your femoral head will collapse." Was it fifteen years from that moment? Could she guarantee me that I only had fifteen years? Doesn't the everyone's-different argument apply here? If not, why not? The other statistic the doctor gave me was, "The implant will last 15 years." That wasn't great news. When I looked it up, I found that the implant was almost guaranteed to last 15 years. Many lasted 25. The not-everyone's-the-same argument applies here too. If they used it to convince me to have surgery, why couldn't they use statical information to tell me what to expect after surgery. For example, how long would the impact of the spinal block last? How would I feel when it wore off? When should I anticipate needing the narcotics to help me get by? I didn't expect precise answers specifically designed for me, but a range would have been nice. I was left in the dark.

I had a lovely visit with Dr. Salassa. She is a gorgeous young woman with a great reputation as a surgeon with a good 'bedside' manner. She looked at my X-rays and told me my implant was perfectly placed, exactly as she had intended. My incision was healing nicely. She asked me if I was a swimmer. No, I assured her. "I'm known as Princess Never Get Wet." I was not planning any immediate ocean swims.

I also brought up some of my dissatisfaction with the aftercare service. While I was told to brush my teeth at least twice daily before surgery, no one introduced the subject while I was on the hospital floor. I was bedridden until I left. I wasn't allowed to get out of bed. The nurse never said, "Let's brush your teeth." I had brought one with me.

Also, no one checked my blood pressure. During the first PT visit, I was so dizzy she didn't dare have me walk. No one checked my blood pressure even after that. Dr. Salassa said I had a cuff on at all times. No, I didn't. I told her I checked my blood pressure when I got home and discovered it was below 100 over 60. Had I taken my blood pressure medication, I could have been so light-headed I would have fallen. That would not have been good.

I also had no instructions from the doctor on taking the hydrocodone and Tylenol prescribed. The prescription said one or two tablets every six hours. In the general instruction, it said as needed. I thought the doctor's prescription trumped boilerplate instructions. I still didn't take it as prescribed. After each pill, I added a half hour to the lag time when I discovered I wasn't in pain. I was up to 11 hours between pills rather than six when the visiting PT told me not to do that. I was to keep ahead of the pain. If the pain surged, I could wind up in the ER. Well, that scared me. I went back to taking the medication regularly.

The doctor said if she had her way, everyone would go home the day of the surgery and not stay overnight in the hospital. They do that with folks living on Oahu, but that doesn't work for us outer island folks who must fly home. The doctor told me Kaiser no longer had an orthopedic wing. When it did, three or four orthopedic nurses on staff knew what they were doing. The general practitioners weren't as specifically skilled. The doctor said she was particularly concerned about older people taking the pain medication. It was precisely because of my experience. The medication lowered blood pressure. The elderly were at risk of falling; I was at risk of falling.

She showed me my before and after X-rays. The implant had a straight line from the femoral head into the leg. My old joint had a bend in it. My doctor friend, Melissa, told me it's an angled joint. The neck was actually bent. That was why my left leg was shorter than my right. No doctor had explained why they knew my hip was a problem except to say, "You have arthritis." Duh! I was over 60 years old; of course, I had arthritis. However, was that the cause of my pain, or was it a wrenched muscle from Mike nearly yanking my leg right out of its socket? I was offered no explanation other than, "I said so." Not even the good Dr. Salassa showed me this beforehand. I knew she wouldn't adjust the leg length to ensure they were even. That had been one of my fears. Whatever her limitations, she was the only doctor I trusted not to play God.

I told her the PT told me to take my pills as directed 'to stay ahead of the pain." The phrase wound up being an advertising ploy of pharma. They convinced doctors to keep giving their narcotics, arguing, "They're not in pain because the meds are working. Make sure they stay on it to prevent pain from coming back. Stay ahead of the pain." So much for that good advice.

I asked the doctor how much the implant weighed. When I weighed myself Saturday the 4th, two days after the operation, the scale was three pounds higher than before. I checked how much it might weigh. I saw one at five pounds. Ah, that explained the weight gain. I asked the doctor how much my implant weighed—one pound. The rest was from additional fluid, probably my body working to clear out any junk from the surgical area.

Yvette dropped me off at Home Depot while she went for gas at Costco. I need more batteries. My blood pressure monitor batteries were low after something like five days. Good thing I already ordered a new one. I opened it only to discover I had ordered the wrong brand. This is the second mistake I made because of the drugs. I ordered the Omron brand immediately. This is the only home blood pressure monitor brand reputed to give consistent readings.

I also picked up a backpack garden sprayer for the gardeners to use with the high-potency vinegar I bought. Yvette and Josh won't allow Round Up to be used. The alternative is high-potency vinegar. The gardeners would use it. This is a large property. It requires a lot of work. I could do more once my new hip was in working order.

I made it home in plenty of time for my Reading & Writing Office hours. Only one of the participants had already met with her student. She was a fourth-grade girl who had trouble decoding multi-syllable words. The other two were there because the program required them to attend an office hour. I know many people don't fulfill any requirements. We are all volunteers. The program only has so much leverage. I addressed the problem of decoding multi-syllable words while advising them to watch my YouTube videos, The Phonics Discovery System Phase I and II. The tutor who had already worked with her student thanked me. "I've learned so much." It was gratifying to hear that.

Jean Mabry called. She was busy but had no other complaints. She told me a fantastic story. Her daughter and grandchildren were sitting together in a bedroom when an oblong "orb" danced across the wall. There was no question in their minds. This was something spiritual. Her daughter believed it was her recently deceased grandmother. I had never heard of such a thing.

I lay down to read on the sofa on the lanai. As usual, Elsa jumped up and settled on my chest as I was ready to get up. She stretched out and went limp, enjoying the rocking motion of my breath. I fell asleep and only woke up when the home care PT arrived.

Today was her second and final visit. I told her I was frightened post-operatively because two PTs and my acupuncturist told me I wouldn't do well with a hip replacement. Their comments did not induce a comfortable recovery. She was critical of their negativity. I didn't point out that she, too, had said something that set me off in a spiral of fear when she told me I should take my medication as prescribed to "stay ahead of the pain."

When I spoke to the doctor, she said it would be okay to switch from the walker to a cane. I tried that, but it didn't feel right. I had to use my right leg to compensate for the weakness in the left hip when I walked. It's essential to avoid compensatory movement. I started using the walker again. That felt much better.

I spent the evening listening to Evening Jazz and playing FreeCell. I stayed up till eleven because I'd slept too much during the day.

Sunday, June 12, 2022

I slept well again. I woke up before six but remained in bed. I have very little to get up for these days. I don't even get to walk Elsa. How does one hold a leash and keep both hands on a walker? Needing to do that creates an obstacle to most activities. Try carrying a plate full of food to the table while maneuvering a walker. Two slices of jam-covered toast wound up jam-side down on my lanai rug. Quite a mess!

I did some work on the updates and blog. At least I got out the daily blog post. My numbers have increased again. They're up in the 50s with folks from China of all places. From what I read, I doubt there is an English language class in China anymore.

Sitting in my old-lady chair proved a challenge. The surgical leg hurts, mostly with sciatic pain. Is this pain temporary due to the swelling in the area, or is it permanent due to the implant putting pressure on the nerve? Only time will tell. I have the words of all three of my body workers telling me I won't be happy with the hip transplant. What have I done?

I ran out of hydrocodone pills last night after taking only half a pill every four hours for a day and a half. I was on my own with Tylenol, at least for a day. Monday, I see the surgeon for a checkup. My hip does feel much better. Tomorrow it will be eleven days since the surgery. While I haven't had my hanai sister's problems after her back surgery, I find the aftercare absurdly poor. There is no checklist of procedures. This drop in aftercare quality started when I left the post-op. No, before that. They didn't give me juice and crackers because I was getting a full meal through room service. Well, I guess you could call an all-liquid diet a full meal. Yuck! I would have loved some apricot juice and a cracker. It would have been so much more satisfying.

But back to more serious deficiencies. While I was told to brush my teeth at least twice a day before surgery, there was no effort from the floor nurses to get me to brush my teeth. I wasn't allowed out of bed until the PT checked to see if I could walk. If I brushed my teeth, it would only be with assistance. No one even mentioned it.

And then, there's the whole blood pressure debacle. The nurses may have given me blood pressure medication intravenously while I was in the hospital. I was light-headed when the first PT visit. She didn't allow me to try to walk as a result. No one checked my blood pressure at any point. If I hadn't pulled out the blood pressure monitor recently because of that 174/102 reading I got for my pre-surgical exam, I wouldn't have known how low it was. I would have taken my blood pressure medication as directed. God knows what would have happened. I wondered how many post-surgical falls can be attributed to decreased blood pressure. Some of the falls may have been due to the post-surgical painkillers, but some may be due to the anesthesia still in our systems. As I typed this, the outside of my surgical thigh still felt somewhat numb.

I read something startling in Merzenich's Soft-Wired today. Attention is the key to learning in the mature mind. The infant mind has no choice but to process everything that comes in. Depending on the input, it starts pruning the unneeded neurons and connecting sets of neurons, building a coherent world. After a certain point, that uncontrolled intake stops. The conscious mind has to take over, deciding what to attend to. Good learning depends on the conscious mind determining what to attend to. The degree of attention determines the degree of imprint, which amounts to the degree of learning. It means EFFORT is the key to learning.

I have always been protective of teachers arguing that students don't do well because they make no effort. The response is punishment, hoping to force students to change their evil ways. For the first time, I reconsidered my point of view. Lack of effort is a problem. As I write, I assume there is an underlying problem if there is a lack of effort. I still think so. I also understand we all like to do what comes easily. That's where pleasure is. We must step out of ourselves, or what we think is ourselves, to learn something new. Change!

There it is again. Change! How do we learn to deal with that?

I couldn't sit in my old-lady chair long. I would sit in it for a while and then lie on the sofa. I tried to continue working on the computer from that position, but it was impossible to adjust my glasses so I could see clearly. I gave up and just watched a video of a stand-up comic. A woman named Alice something with a program called Savage who based humor on bad circumstances. I didn't find it funny.

I forgot to mention something I watched recently, which I highly recommend. Heidi Schreck does a show called "What the Constitution Means to Me." I loved this performance. It was thoughtful and emotionally engaging. It is political. It talks about women's rights and violence in America.

Scott came through on his way out. He was going out for Thai food. Did I want anything? No. I had more than enough food. I had texted Lutz a bit earlier to tell him to hold off on his spaghetti for another day while I worked my way through what I had.

I felt that I wasn't tired and couldn't fall asleep. Lutz came to the door and spoke to me while I lay there. That must have been around 5 pm when he was doing his evening walk. The next thing I knew, I woke up, and it was dark. It was well after 7 pm. I did fall asleep. This twilight zone I was living in was not for me. It made me mad as hell, and I didn't want to take it anymore. Of course, I didn't have much choice if I wanted to heal quickly.

Saturday, June 11, 2022

Again, I slept like a baby. Boy, do I sleep well. What a blessing! I stayed in bed a bit longer than I usually do. I felt like I had no reason to get up. I both love that I have nothing to do but meditate and nap, and I fear it. That lack of stimulation would not be good for me.

My sciatica was killing me today. Sitting in a chair was not an option. I lay down on the couch. But it was difficult to do any writing while prone, but my leg felt better.

Shivani called. She prefers Facetime calls. She does that because Sidney can participate. It is like being in someone's home with them. It makes the flow of conversation more relaxed. She was sitting out on her back patio. It is a delightful spot. She has a conversational sofa grouping and a dining room table.

I did get some work done on the updates and the blog. My daily numbers on the blog have jumped in the last two days- in China. If it lasts only one or two days, it may be a bot or a computer glitch. It means there aren't many people reading the blog; the computer counting the visitors just did its own thing.

I was hungry for the first time since I got home from the hospital. Last night I enjoyed the meatloaf sandwich Judy sent over. This afternoon I craved some of Chef Eric's chicken alfredo with broccoli. I had a few mouths full. That was quite enough. I chased that down with a slice of the cake Shivani and Sidney made together. It was good, but I couldn't eat all I cut for myself. I hadn't quite got to the point where I wanted chocolate. Once that craving returned, I'd know I was good to go.

Thursday, I contacted the parents of the M & W sisters, saying I wasn't quite ready to come back to work. Their father responded that it was okay; they had had a death in the family. Today I learned it was his father, the children's paternal grandfather, who died. He told me there was a newspaper article about him. I discovered his father had been a professional football player. He was also a big deal in other ways.

Yvette cleaned the bathroom, sanitized it, in fact, with some special spray she uses at work, and vacuumed the carpet in the guest room. Scott would sleep in the room where Shivani and Sidney slept. When Scott came, he was exhausted.

I read more of Merzenich's book, Soft-Wired, on brain plasticity. It talks about how the brain is transformed through learning and the difference between the learning process for a newborn versus the aging brain. The newborn's brain processes everything. There is no filter. As a specific sensory input is repeated, there is an increase in the number of neurons that register that information. As the infant grows, neurons are pruned, dropped. The mature brain has fewer neurons than the infant's brain, as it should. If we maintained the infant brain with its high neuron count, we would be disabled. The object is a brain that can function in the environment it has to live in.

As we age, learning does not happen passively, as it does for the infant. Our minds become gatekeepers. We get to make conscious decisions about what we learn. I knew about this process before. Each time I read about it, my understanding deepens. I planned to read this passage about learning to adolescent D. He wants to learn passively as an infant does. Did he choose to avoid conscious learning because it made him feel bad from the start? That could happen. If he observed a friend who seemed to learn effortlessly as a child, he would interpret his need to make an effort as evidence of a deficit and avoid using it. The other possibility is that a neurological deficit prevents him from focusing his attention sufficiently. I don't know all the possibilities. Either way, I know from my meditation practice that the attention function can improve with effort.

Friday, June 10, 2022

I slept well. I felt like I could lie in bed forever and doze. It sounded lovely. No challenges. No frustrations. No pain. Ah! Dead! When I thought I was dead after an accident when I was ten, I thought, "Thank God it's over!" While I consider myself a reasonably happy person, life is a challenge and a disappointment in many ways. Some rewarding moments and moments that are easy, but there are still the others that made me angry. I have very little cause to be angry. I remain among the luckiest people on the planet in many ways.

Paulette stopped by to pick up my water bottles to fill them with Kangen water.

Yvette slept up here again last night. She kept a distance from Josh until his Covid test came up with a clear result. Today, his test came up negative. Yay! Yvette went downstairs to lie in her own bed for the first time in days.

B stopped in while I was listening to Terry Gross to see how I was doing. He brought a plate of a chicken Alfredo with broccoli from a friend of his whose son I tutored.

The home care PT called to make our second appointment for Monday afternoon. She said to make sure that I kept up my dosage of the hydrocodone, or I could wind up in such severe pain. I would have to go to the hospital. I thought to check how much of the prescription I had left. Four pills!!! If I took what's left every four hours, I would be out by tomorrow afternoon. I tried to call Kaiser prescription to get a refill. I could pick it up early Monday morning, having given them the 24-hour notice. When I placed the order, they said they couldn't fill it without a doctor's approval. That means I couldn't get meds until Tuesday. Let the fun begin! I was cutting back on the Vicodin, down to half a pill every six hours. Now, I don't have a choice. I am hopping mad. I can see them say I should have known. Excuse me. I'm on drugs. I'm out of it. Why should I have known? It said on the bottle to take as much as two at a time. That led me to believe I would have enough to last.

I called to speak to the advice nurse. When the receptionist asked, I told her I wanted to have a prescription okayed. She told me the advice nurse couldn't do that. I told her they could get hold of a doctor who could. I already had that experience.

Yvette came up, and I told her of my situation. We called people we knew who had had medical procedures requiring pain killers. Several people responded. That was comforting. One friend had a stash. He was cautious not to misuse or distribute them to others who might. He brought a bottle over. It was a pharmacy bottle, not a prescription bottle. He got these when they were still handing out narcotics for pain like candy. I said, "Mike is thrilled," meaning he was glad I had what I needed. But then it didn't feel like that. I felt he was upset. I thought to check the expiration date. Sure enough, 9/19. No wonder he was jumping up and down in agitation. We checked online. These pills were good for five years after the manufacturer's printed date. Wow! Hopefully, I won't need them anyway.

The phone ran at 12:30 am. It was the Kaiser advice nurse. When I called earlier, I had the option of asking for a call back instead of waiting. This was this callback. I knew better than to hang up. I did that once because I didn’t need to speak to them anymore. They called back but I had to wait in line to speak to someone. Tonight, I turned down the volume as much as I could and still heard the hold message over and over. "All the nurses are busy speaking to others, etc." I must have fallen asleep. When I woke, I still heard the hold message. When I checked, I saw I had been on the line for two hours and thirteen minutes. I hung up. They didn't call back. They need to revise their system.

Thursday, June 9, 2022

I slept almost the whole day. I crawled back into bed in the morning and never got out. My capacity for sleep is almost alarming, but I do love it.

I was in more pain than yesterday. I knew the pain would start when the anesthesia wore off, but not when to expect it to wear off. I had to make judgment calls while taking narcotics. It was a catch-22. I was taking medication to kill numbed pain but had to judge when I no longer needed it. Huh? I called to speak to the orthopedic advice nurse. It took a while for her to get back to me. I asked her how long I could expect to be in pain. She told me three months. She had no information about this period of immediate recovery. Then she asked me a series of questions. Had I fallen? Was I experiencing heart palpitations or chest pain? Did I feel faint? It was clear she knew nothing. She was only interested in ensuring I wasn’t in medical distress, but she had no information.

The aftercare advice is terrible. There were several things I should have been told before I left the hospital. I can hear the doctor saying no one else had my problems. That means no one else has complained. This system is downright dangerous. If I had taken my blood pressure medication when I came home, I would have been in danger of passing out and falling. Falling with a newly implanted hip is a no-no. If I hadn’t been monitoring my blood pressure regularly, I wouldn’t have known that it had dropped to below 100 over the low 60s and only raised slightly over 100. What would the impact have been if I had taken the medication?

I watched The Land of Steady Habits. All the characters had bad habits, particularly the main character. Watching it was like eating thin soup. Nothing about it was satisfying, but I kept watching, hoping something would change. The film ended on a positive note for the main characters; there were secondary characters that lost their son to drug addiction or possibly suicide. They didn’t have a happy ending. In the end, how these pathetic people managed to do well was a mystery to me, but I was grateful for the ruse. I didn’t have to fall asleep worrying about them.

Wednesday, June 8, 2022

I slept deeply, like a baby. The hydrocodone and Tylenol combination created this lovely, relaxed state. I was high. I have never enjoyed being high before. Because of my underlying complex PTSD, being numbed was unpleasant. It increased the sense of underlying danger. Because of the work I did with Shelly the other day, facing the underlying terror my mother evoked in me, I could let things slide more easily. Okay, so if I hadn't taken care of certain things, it would result in the ruin and waste of some food items. Okay, so I hadn't written down everything I'd done for the updates. Who the hell would care?

Following the visiting PT's advice, I took one Vicodin every six hours again instead of spacing it out. I had been up to eleven hours between pills. I learned the spinal block was designed to last five days. My real pain would be starting now. I felt some tenderness in the buttocks and the top of the thigh but nothing to write home about. The scary pain was the one running down my lower leg, ankle, and foot. That was sciatica. I was still wondering if I would be better off as a result of the surgery or if I had traded one problem for another, "The surgery was a success, but the patient died," type of problem.

Yvette slept here again last night. She and Josh are still maintaining distance to be sure there is no way she can catch Covid from him. She goes downstairs to shower. She goes in the backdoor to avoid all contact with Josh. He turned on the fan in her bathroom a few days ago. Other than that, he rarely goes into that area of the house. He had his separate bathroom.

It was wonderful having Yvette hang out up here. I heard her and Shivani laugh together while I napped. Total joy! After Yvette returned from buying something for Josh in town, she and I participated in childcare while Shivani got some work done in the library before her flight home. Yvette covered it alone for an hour while I had an appointment with Shelly. I worked on sadness and loneliness today. I have several family members who don't like me and never have. I have no idea what my sins against them are. As things have gotten worse between us, I'm sure they can point to a thing I've done and say, "See!" But this antagonism toward me predates those incidents. They simply have never taken pleasure in my company. It's confusing for me because I can take pleasure in the company of most people. There is always something interesting about the other person. I love discovering their perspective and how it differs from mine. When I don't like something about someone, I speak up and ask for change where possible. One of my relatives told me outright that they shouldn't have to tell me what the problem is; I should know. The argument is that when you know people, you know what they think, and you shouldn't have to be told. Maybe this is a skill this person has; I sure don't. I can make a good guess, but I ask to confirm my thinking. It's all water under the bridge now. It hurts never-the-less. These failed relationships are a source of continuing grief for me, more than my loss of Mike.

I don't know for sure how Mike felt about our relationship. He certainly put out the message that he was reasonably happy. He had underlying unresolved problems that complicated all his relationships. Still, he always had a joyful smile for me. Whatever our relationship was, it was enough for me. I experienced it as a success. He was sufficiently respectful and loving and supportive to make it all enough. Was he perfect in any of those three categories? Probably not. But that wasn't necessary. While he feared conflict more than I, he was open to joyful negotiation. He didn't see every difference in need and opinion as an occasion to fight to the death or concede, selling himself out. He was explicit about trusting my goodwill toward him. We both wished each other the best and rejoiced when the other was happy. It was so restful. But I regress.

After speaking to the gardener about spraying the yard with vinegar, I put out an APB to Yvette, Josh, Judy, Paulette, B, and Lutz to pick up crates of vinegar from Costco for weeding. Lutz replied that I was better off with the vinegar from Home Depot with a 30% acid count rather than the food grade from Costco with a 5% acid count. Then Lutz proposed ordering a 50-gallon tank of 100% acetic acid, which he knew how to dilute. I told him to look into the price.

The last time the gardener was here, he told me about a price increase and lamented he couldn't get more done because he had to devote time to hand weeding. Josh and Yvette are clear that no Round-Up is to be used on the property. It finally occurred to me that I could have the gardeners spray with vinegar instead of having me do whatever I could, which is sadly quite limited. I agreed to buy one of those large backpack sprayers and provide the vinegar. That led to me asking everyone to pick up cases for me.

Shivani was all packed and ready to go. She made a quick run to the Pine Tree Café to buy Kona coffee as gifts. Yvette drove her to the airport. I wasn't going to try to get in and out of the car if I didn't have to.

Yvette was still up here. We had a lovely conversation. Things between us may improve since I confronted my historical terror. I believe she suffers from the same thing. We scare the shit out of each other as a result.

I napped after Shivani and Sidney left. I was in a lot of pain in my lower leg. I got scared when that happened. I couldn't find a comfortable spot. I shifted position every five minutes. I dug my right heel into the left side of my left foot. That relieved that pain, and I fell asleep. Shortly after three, I lay down, just in time for Fresh Air with Terry Gross. I woke up at five. I guess I needed the sleep. I hope I can sleep through the night. I won't go to bed early.

I needed to continue using the walker, so I didn't adopt a compensating gait. When I don't use the walker, my left hip hurts, and I put all my weight on my right leg. That's the maneuver I want to avoid.

I had a chocolate craving. This is the first time since the operation. That's a good sign my appetite is returning. Yvette came home with a bar of Orange Dark chocolate the other day a client gave her. She didn't want it. I've never been interested in dark chocolate until I had some that Darby brought over the other day. It was locally produced. Boy, was that ever good. It wasn't bitter. I think they used a lot of vanilla. Probably also locally grown.

B came in around 7 pm while I was feeding Elsa and washing the dishes. He delivered a gallon of 30% vinegar from Home Depot. That may be enough. He questioned how we were going to be able to handle a 50-gallon tank of acid Lutz had proposed. Where were we going to store it? How were we going to get it on the property? I was glad he brought these questions up. I figured Lutz might have answers, but they may not be ones I like. It was good that I knew what to ask about.

The other day I said something to B about not knowing something. He made some comment about my knowing everything. Geez, Louise. Boy, do I not know everything. I made some comment: the person who knows the most about everything in the world probably only knows 2% of what is to be known. There is so much information out there. We have to live with not knowing. They say the recognition of ignorance is a sign of intelligence. I must be brilliant by that measure.

Yvette slept up here again. This was partially to avoid contact with Josh, whose Covid tests still show a faint positive, and to keep me company. I asked her to spend some nights up here. I was scared to be alone, feeling vulnerable from the operation. Mike spoiled me. I knew I had him glued to my side when I needed him. He was a wonderful partner. He made me happy.

Tuesday, June 7, 2022

I slept well and woke up with pain from the surgery and sciatica. The rest is not much of a bother. Yvette came in to say hello. She said she was holding off getting her hair done until she got to Portland and her hairdresser there. She had always loved how Denise did it. She didn't have anyone here she was happy with at this time. Denise had a hip replacement with a bad outcome, foot dropsy. Her nerves had been affected, and she had no control over her foot. She was going to have to wear a brace.

Yvette came home tonight. She slept in the library instead of downstairs with Josh. They wanted to ensure all trace of Covid was gone before he had contact with Yvette. She was planning to travel to the mainland in July.

David Peters texted to find out if I received the Hersey nuggets. Wow! It occurred to me that it might be them, my sister Dorothy, her daughter Karin and her husband David, all in Seattle recovering from the birth of a second child accompanied by some unwelcome drama in the form of influenza B, but it seemed a stretch. I thought it must be someone from Hawaii who knew about our Safeway. I was sure it was David who had taken on the logistics challenge. He's the one who figured out how to get the flowers delivered.

Alexandra had her wrist surgery today. That meant I was on childcare duty. I asked Sidney if he wanted to write a story. I did a cowriting activity with him. He wrote "Fire in Foggy Bottom." Wow! He did a pretty good job. I've done hundreds of these with kids much older than him. That he had a lot to say wasn't a surprise. He's very verbal. He may become more restrained when he gets older. The surprise was that he constructed a long story with a consistent topic. Yes, I'm sure I guided it. But, as I said, I've done this with hundreds of kids. With some, this is not an option. I don't want to wander too far from what they want to say. It stops being theirs if I do. It was fun writing it with him. I read it back to him several times. I printed it out, distributing the story over eleven pages. Then I gave him blank sheets he could use to illustrate the story. He was concerned he wouldn't know what to draw because he couldn't read the words. I assured him I would help.

Yvette came home. She slept in the library. Sometime during the night, after I got up to pee and was lying in bed going through my exercises before falling asleep again, I heard someone pee in the toilet. My first thought was that it was Elsa. Well, that didn't make sense. I called out, "Yvette?" She had to go right past my bed to get to the bathroom. I never sensed her. For Yvette to use my bathroom that way is just fine. I have known her since before she was born. Also, we share a similar attitude toward the body. It later occurred to me that I never thought it might be Mike. He had a prostrate problem and peed many times during the night. That was a familiar sound. As I suspected, he is gone from my brain map. I remember the day when I realized that. It was only a few months ago. I miss him. I miss all the comfort and joy he brought into my life.

I continued watching Georgetown tonight. It took a turn I wasn't comfortable with. I checked the plot. Wiki didn't have too much detail. The story was based on a true one about a much younger man who married a woman forty-four years older who was a doyen of DC. When she was found dead, he was charged with her murder. The news report said there had been domestic abuse incidents before her death. He was an empty shell of a man with a trumped-up excuse for a life. There was no way I was going to watch that. I found Dare to be Wild about Mary Reynolds. I thoroughly enjoyed that.

Monday, June 6, 2022

I slept well. I woke up to take my meds. So far, so good. I mostly felt wasted. My mind felt like I was sick with the flu, but my body didn't. It was an odd feeling. It made me feel old and inadequate. I felt hungover- not one of my favorite feelings.

There was a flower delivery. A masked woman I didn't recognize appeared at my door with a vase of flowers. I wondered if she was the woman who comes by periodically to ask if she could pick some of my mangoes. No, it was just a delivery lady. She brought the flowers inside and set them on the table. I wouldn't have made it there safely. I had to hold on to the walker at all times.

This was Alexandra's last day doing childcare for Sidney while Shivani worked. Shivani had planned a vacation visit here in late May. When she read I planned hip replacement surgery, she offered to extend her stay to care for me. However, she was going to have to work. Would I be willing to pay for childcare? Well, that was an adventure into a whole new world. Childcare expenses are $35-40 an hour. It is hard for a trained teacher to get that money for tutoring. I put everyone I knew on the case.

Fortunately, an adolescent down the street was interested. Alexandra was a rip-roaring success with Sidney. He fell madly in love with her. When she came over to meet him, she brought a candy-filled lei. That was a good start. The first full day she was with him, she sat on the floor and played with him the whole time. Shivani could work without a qualm. Then Alexandra broke her wrist roller skating. She had to take some time off to see a specialist, and her operation was scheduled on her supposed last day of work. Sidney wanted her to move to CA to be there for him. She was a complete success.

Four people signed up for my Reading &Writing Office Hours, but only three showed up. One woman hadn't met with her student yet. She left the meeting as I surveyed the participants to determine their needs. There were two left. One was a middle-aged Asian Indian woman who didn't speak correct English. Both her pronunciations and her grammar were still heavily affected by her native language. The other woman was of Asian descent but had been raised here. She spoke perfect English and had a degree in linguistics.

Both women had met with their students, and both students were girls in 4th grade who had trouble decoding longer words. I showed them the six-step decoding process for multi-syllable words from Phase II. I recommended they watch the Phase I and Phase II of The Phonics Discovery System videos. I also covered the sentence analysis process I developed. I think of it as a form of sentence diagramming. No one I worked with in the Reading & Writing Office Hours is old enough to know about sentence diagramming. The young woman with a linguistic background had heard the expression "the algebraics of syntax" as it applied to the in the 'In The Book' section of the process. Both women were quiet as I explained the decoding and comprehension sections of the work. The young woman with a linguistics background immediately understood my teaching methods. She said, "This shows them how to discover it on their own rather than memorizing everything." She made one other comment to that effect. It was so rewarding to hear someone 'get' what my work is about without me having to say it.

In the evening, while Shivani, Sidney, and I were eating dinner, we heard a male voice at the door. I called, "Come in!" the doors are unlocked; I don't live in fear. Shivani finally got up to answer the door. She came back to the table with a Safeway paper shopping bag. There were three packages of Hersey's milk chocolate nuggets with whole almonds and a receipt with only my name. Who had sent this?

My first guess was Sandor. I texted him. No. He didn't even know that Safeway sent gifts. Of course, it was just a grocery delivery. I text Damon, Cylin, Isaac, Judy, Paulette, and my friend Jean in Arizona. She had once mailed me several packages of those kisses for my birthday. Everyone I texted said, "No, not me." I planned to post something in the next update. I hoped my benefactor would own up.

B showed up with the freshly caught tuna he promised. I told him to put it in the frig. Shivani was planning to make it for dinner tonight. She brought the package to me, saying, "This is a huge chunk of fish. We could never eat this tonight." I had been hungry earlier and finished off some left-over General Tao's chicken from a week ago that Shivani was about to throw out. It smelled good. It hit the spot. Shivani made some pasta with broccoli and the fish. I called B. "Hey, B. You gave us a huge piece of fish. Can you freeze the rest? In fact, can you make the rest for me? Richard Brian W, have you ever met me? There's no way I can cook this fish and do it justice." I had a small piece for dinner. I had thought of having a piece of the cake Shivani and Sidney made, but I didn't have the appetite. My taste for food is way off because of the drugs. The PT warned that I had to eat to keep up my strength and help the healing process.

I watched the end of Northern Border. It was about a dysfunctional man who "was the meanest man in the country," but it was still uplifting. I suppose it was about how everyone made the best of a bad deal.

The home care physical therapist called to schedule an appointment. They had to make one within 24 hours of receiving notice. They called while I was in the Zoom meeting for my Reading and Writing Office hours. When I got back to her, she said she had someone available in my neighborhood. The assigned therapist would call later to make an appointment. I consulted with Shivani because we were without Alexandra tomorrow. I had to help out with childcare while she was on the phone for work. While Sidney could play alone for hours on his own, he can get hyper and be quite annoying, as only a young child can.

Lutz called to ask what time we usually ate dinner. Shivani said about 7. He said great. As per his mom's recipe, he had made a chicken fricassee with capers. He would do his walk at five and then drop off the food. He was good to his word. He warned us the capers might make the food too salty—Shivani and I both like salty food. We told him we would be good.

Shivani slept and slept. I called to her to say I would make my own dinner. Did Sidney need anything? He hadn't eaten. I warmed up a slice of pizza and served it to him in bed. I made myself some of Lutz's chicken fricassee. I was a bit salty, but good. The rest would be too salty the next day.