I figure I'm making about $2.50/hour for the article I haven't finished yet. Don't let anybody tell you that writers make the big bucks. By the time I'd interviewed the subject, transcribed the interview, went to his event, made calls to check on details, and then actually finish writing the thing I will be happy with it, but I will get a grand total of $25 for it. I will have worked on it a large part of at least three days.
This morning was a bit crazy. I was frantically transcribing the interview and had to get to Atria by 10:30 because my cousin Denise was going to be there and we were going to try a Facetime chat with Peach, but she had a meeting to get to, so I needed to get the thing set up quickly (Atria has only recently offered wifi for guests).
I got to Atria a little late--about 10:45, but thought we could still reach Peach, but Niecie wasn't there. I decided to get the call going anyway because Peach was waiting for me, but when I tried to connect, it said that she was not equipped to receive Facetime. I tried sending her a text message, but it turns out, I just learned, that she doesn't have a cell phone, so I didn't reach her.
In the end, it didn't matter because by the time Niecie arrived, it would have been too late to call anyway.
Not really a noteworthy visit. My mother told me on Saturday that her nails were so long she needed to have Niecie (who is a beautician) come and give her a nail trim, but on the phone she told Niecie she didn't need a manicure, so she didn't bring her equipment. Then, over lunch, Niecie suggested they go together to a nail salon, which they have done before, and my mother refused to go. Said she didn't need it, though her nails are starting to look like they are entered into a "longest nails" contest.
While we were visiting, the phone rang and my mother had a lively conversation with someone. When I asked her who it was, she said she didn't know, but it was a "male relative" but she never caught his name.
I've talked with a couple of people recently who are disappointed that my mother isn't "getting better." I'm surprised at that. She isn't under treatment. She just sits in her room. And dementia isn't "treatable" anyway. It can maybe be slowed down, but not cured. Her stepson suggests we try an expensive herbal supplement for memory enhancement, which sounds like a lot of snake oil, but I told him I'd check it out. Anybody ever hear of Phosphatidylserine? I read enough about it to know that I wouldn't try to give her anything like that without a doctor's approval. Besides, she hates to take pills and won't even take Advil because she doesn't want to become addicted (yes, I know it's not addicted). She'd rather live with her back pain than take a pill and when I remind her that the medication helps control the pain, she just gets that flirty smile she uses on her doctors when she doesn't want to do anything they tell her and tunes me out.
She's her own worst enemy. I'm glad my dementia support group meets this week.
I did have a nice visit with Niecie but left her there when I came home to work some more on the article. I managed to get a nap in and the article started, but I will have to finish it tomorrow.
In the meantime, the news seems to be Chris Christie all the time, and the material seems to keep rolling out about other dirty tricks that have been played on others with whom he may have found disfavor. At best he's innocent and his trusted staff acted without his knowledge. At worst, he's a lousy manager who doesn't know what is going on under his own nose. His professed total lack of interest in investigating to find out what really happened, but just to fire staff immediately is more suspect than anything.
And then there are the records Rachel Maddow's staff has been unearthing which have nothing to do with failure of the mayor to support Christie but possibly other issues that angered the governor. Or his staff. Or both. Christie suffers from ruling the state where Tony Soprano lived. We have our mental stereotypes, and all that is coming out from the governor's office fits right there into the Soprano legacy.
I'm sleepy. I don't know what I'm writing. I'm going to turn out the lights and try to get some restorative sleep.
This morning was a bit crazy. I was frantically transcribing the interview and had to get to Atria by 10:30 because my cousin Denise was going to be there and we were going to try a Facetime chat with Peach, but she had a meeting to get to, so I needed to get the thing set up quickly (Atria has only recently offered wifi for guests).
I got to Atria a little late--about 10:45, but thought we could still reach Peach, but Niecie wasn't there. I decided to get the call going anyway because Peach was waiting for me, but when I tried to connect, it said that she was not equipped to receive Facetime. I tried sending her a text message, but it turns out, I just learned, that she doesn't have a cell phone, so I didn't reach her.
In the end, it didn't matter because by the time Niecie arrived, it would have been too late to call anyway.
Not really a noteworthy visit. My mother told me on Saturday that her nails were so long she needed to have Niecie (who is a beautician) come and give her a nail trim, but on the phone she told Niecie she didn't need a manicure, so she didn't bring her equipment. Then, over lunch, Niecie suggested they go together to a nail salon, which they have done before, and my mother refused to go. Said she didn't need it, though her nails are starting to look like they are entered into a "longest nails" contest.
While we were visiting, the phone rang and my mother had a lively conversation with someone. When I asked her who it was, she said she didn't know, but it was a "male relative" but she never caught his name.
I've talked with a couple of people recently who are disappointed that my mother isn't "getting better." I'm surprised at that. She isn't under treatment. She just sits in her room. And dementia isn't "treatable" anyway. It can maybe be slowed down, but not cured. Her stepson suggests we try an expensive herbal supplement for memory enhancement, which sounds like a lot of snake oil, but I told him I'd check it out. Anybody ever hear of Phosphatidylserine? I read enough about it to know that I wouldn't try to give her anything like that without a doctor's approval. Besides, she hates to take pills and won't even take Advil because she doesn't want to become addicted (yes, I know it's not addicted). She'd rather live with her back pain than take a pill and when I remind her that the medication helps control the pain, she just gets that flirty smile she uses on her doctors when she doesn't want to do anything they tell her and tunes me out.
She's her own worst enemy. I'm glad my dementia support group meets this week.
I did have a nice visit with Niecie but left her there when I came home to work some more on the article. I managed to get a nap in and the article started, but I will have to finish it tomorrow.
In the meantime, the news seems to be Chris Christie all the time, and the material seems to keep rolling out about other dirty tricks that have been played on others with whom he may have found disfavor. At best he's innocent and his trusted staff acted without his knowledge. At worst, he's a lousy manager who doesn't know what is going on under his own nose. His professed total lack of interest in investigating to find out what really happened, but just to fire staff immediately is more suspect than anything.
And then there are the records Rachel Maddow's staff has been unearthing which have nothing to do with failure of the mayor to support Christie but possibly other issues that angered the governor. Or his staff. Or both. Christie suffers from ruling the state where Tony Soprano lived. We have our mental stereotypes, and all that is coming out from the governor's office fits right there into the Soprano legacy.
I'm sleepy. I don't know what I'm writing. I'm going to turn out the lights and try to get some restorative sleep.
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