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. . . Not!  Was actually awakened by the alarm instead of the sun, which was a refreshing change.  Had a brief meeting of the head committee and the motion was made, seconded and carried unanimously in favor of going back to bed.  I slept until after 1 pm, and it was glorious.  I had just gotten up when my mom called and said, instead of bringing boxes by today, bring them by tomorrow and daddysit while she’s at church.  Dad’s grasp on reality, which is difficult to measure at the best of times because he’s so hard of hearing, is getting obviously spotty again and she is hesitant to leave him alone, even for that length of time.  She made the remark, “Didn’t get much sleep last night, as I went to bed at 12:00 (read until then) and then I got up once to go to the bathroom and your Father got up at 3:00 and img0275:00 a.m. to go to the bathroom – which is unusual.  This being ‘beauty saloon’ day, the alarm then went off at 6:15 a.m.  It would be good to take a nap in the chair, but I’m always concerned about his getting up unaided to go to the bathroom.”  I’m going to offer to come over some time and sit with him while she naps. We may need to discuss nursing home placement again.  I would add that she goes to the beauty salon every Friday morning to have her hair washed, set, dried, combed out, and solidified with hairspray, (which ‘do’ lasts her all week — !) and it’s important for her to continue to do that.  She has always been very fastidious about her personal appearance, wears makeup every day, etc., and is otherwise a typical woman of the 40’s and 50’s (when women still wore hats, carried gloves, etc.).  Her appearance is a good barometer regarding her well being.  When this stops becoming a matter of importance to her is when I start to worry about her.

It’s almost 3 pm now and I’m having my first meal of the day, what I guess you could call “breakfunch” — a piece of tandoori naan spread with chopped chicken and chopped black olives mixed with mayonnaise and, on the side, some sliced apples and raw baby carrots dipped in Ranch dressing.  Quite tasty, actually.

My mind is aswirl with things that have to happen before other things can happen.  I need to switch the way the door opens on the little cabinet before I hang it in the full bathroom (It opens to the left; it needs to open to the right — a 9-2005 rlr relocated dresser with new shelfsimple matter of switching the hinges).  I need to photograph and throw out the filing cabinet before I can move that table back and relocate my printer closer to my computer. I may take the other table over to my mom’s rather than try to sell it on craigslist.  While I’m at it, I need to photograph all the dings and scratches on my furniture courtesy of the movers. Found some more nice long ones today all across the top of the little chest of drawers my late sister-in-law refinished and I bought from them when they lived in Wheeling and I lived in Hurricane, West (By God!) Virginia, in the 1970s.  Needless to say, I’m not happy about it.  To the right is how I had it once at the old place.  Right now I’ve got my printer on it, as that’s the only flat surface available currently.

It’s going to be a hot week, next week.  Today’s predicted high is 90F/32C (which it is at the moment).  Sunday’s predicted high is 94F/34C,  Monday’s is 98F/36.6C, and Tuesday’s and Wednesday’s highs 100F/37.7C.  I’m thinking of hanging my little wind chime in front of the vent so it will chime whenever the AC comes on.  That will help me track just how hard the AC is having to work to keep it 74F/23C in my apartment.  If’ it’s coming on a lot, I’ll raise the thermometer up to 78F/25.5C.  If that doesn’t do it, I’ll jack it up to 80F/26.6C.

I’ve been listening a lot to the Illinois Street Lounge channel of SomaFM on my little Squeezebox internet radio, which I’ve put in the dining area.  It plays the kind of music that used to be on the “easy listening” radio channels back in the late 1950’s.   A lot of it is cha-cha-cha’s because that was the big thing then. Because both my parents worked, when we were in primary school, the lady across the street used to keep my brother and I until my mom got home, starting when we were aged 3 and 6 respectively.  During the summers, we would have to lie down for about 1-1/2 to 2 hours after lunch (as much for her sake as ours, she had three children of her own) and she would put the radio on.  One piece they play that brings back memories is “Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White” which I remember listening to as a small child of 4-5, and is associated in my memory with me swinging in the back yard of the lady who kept us when my brother was just a toddler — until we moved to the house my parents built, which would have been the year I turned 6.   She had a fruit tree that bloomed white (apple?). That house and the house next door where we lived for a while, are both gone, bulldozed to make way for a shopping center.  And they’ve changed the name of the street, too.  However, I like Glenna Goodacre and don’t at all mind that the street where I first lived when I came to this town at the ripe old age of 16 months was renamed for her.

I’ve got so much blog reading to catch up on.  I will do it.  I have a good excuse, though, for falling behind . . .