We got about 3 inches of snow today. Our office closed around 1:30. It's so nice to have someone tell me to go home instead of the old days at the mall when I had to answer the phone and tell the store employees that no, we weren't closing when the first flake fell.
I called Marvin because I know he feels the same. Bless his heart, the first thing he asked was if I needed a ride. I could always count on Marvin to pick me up when it snowed. He had a sports utility vehicle with 4-wheel drive and loved an excuse to put it through its paces. Plus, he knew if he picked me up, I was stuck in the office until he was ready to take me home.
The only thing I really like about snow is watching it fall. It's a rare treat to have it come down in the daytime when I can enjoy it. And since it's Friday, and I have plenty of groceries, there's no need to battle icy roads tomorrow. I can stay home until it all melts.
The most dangerous thing I'll have to do is bring in Dad's newspaper tomorrow morning. I made sure I was the one who went out and picked up his Herald this evening. He looked pleasantly surprised when I handed it to him.
"You went out there and got my paper?" he asked with a big smile. Well of course I did. I'd much rather go out in the cold myself than risk having him fall. That would be a huge pain for both of us.
I put towels on the back porch steps to try and prevent Dillon from breaking a leg. He doesn't slow up for bad weather and those steps get slippery when wet and/or frozen. He raced up them last week, lost his grip, and crashed into the boards with both front and back legs. He limped for a few minutes, but then shook it off.
I first put the towel in the middle of the steps. Dillon politely walked to the side so he wouldn't step on the towel. I moved the towel to the side. He looked confused, but walked up the opposite side. Apparently he thought he shouldn't walk on the towel.
I finally got a second towel and covered the entire width of the steps. I hoped he wouldn't go so far as to attempt to leap up both steps to avoid the towels. He finally got the message and used them as I intended. No slipping and sliding so far.
After supper, Dad looked out the front window at the snow covering the road. "The road looks like a mess," he commented. "I'm pretty sure there won't be any yard sales tomorrow morning," I assured him. Hopefully he'll just stay home until things thaw out. I did sweep the snow off his car so it should thaw out when the sun hits it without him having to do much scraping.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Monday, January 21, 2013
Speechless
When Dad does something to make me mad, I usually shut up instead of trying to discuss the matter with him. He's not going to change and arguing isn't going to improve the situation. Instead, I stop talking to him. We have a lot of silent days because he insists on acting as though I'm the unpaid household help and I just can't reconcile myself to cheerfully accept the situation. When he does something particularly egregious I do make my opinion known, but mostly I just shut up.
Since the help is supposed be seen and not heard, I don't consider this out of character. Until you factor in that I'm also supposed to be informative and his link to the outside world. He likes to know what's going on even if he isn't willing to make the effort to talk to anyone himself.
He still thinks I should make his telephone calls for him. Like Goldilocks, he's expects things to be not too loud, not too soft, but just right. It's easier to spare himself potential frustration and rely on me to take care of his communications with the outside world. Regardless of the fact that I'm usually pushed for time and he has nothing but time.
Citigroup has contracted with an outside company to coordinate matching their retirees with new private health care plans. Naturally this will all be handled over the phone. To avoid having to take time off from work to handle that little chore, I suggested Saturday morning that Dad gather all of his information and we'd try and call on Monday, which is a holiday for my office. Not the way I wanted to spend my day off, but he's made it quite clear that he expects me to help him through the process. He made a face. Apparently he's not ready yet.
Sunday he informed me that you can call and schedule an appointment with Extend Health. They're open from 8 a.m. until 8 p.m. on weekdays. "So you can do it without taking time off from work." Then he said he'd probably check with the local insurance company that handles BCBS. That's who I have my health insurance with.
"Are they nice people?" he asked. "Most of the people in the office are, but the woman who handles the health insurance is a real bitch," I informed him. "Well you won't have to go talk to her, and I can get along with just about anybody. I manage to live with you," he said with a laugh.
EXCUSE ME?! I still can't believe he said that. I was momentarily speechless. Instead of insulting him in return, I simply informed him that if he was looking for my help, he was going about it in the wrong way. He just laughed.
He may think he's funny, but he's going to be paying for that crack for a long time to come. We had Chicken Divan today. The ingredients for Butternut Squash and Kale Quesadillas are in the fridge. He may not recognize anything I serve for dinner for weeks to come.
Since the help is supposed be seen and not heard, I don't consider this out of character. Until you factor in that I'm also supposed to be informative and his link to the outside world. He likes to know what's going on even if he isn't willing to make the effort to talk to anyone himself.
He still thinks I should make his telephone calls for him. Like Goldilocks, he's expects things to be not too loud, not too soft, but just right. It's easier to spare himself potential frustration and rely on me to take care of his communications with the outside world. Regardless of the fact that I'm usually pushed for time and he has nothing but time.
Citigroup has contracted with an outside company to coordinate matching their retirees with new private health care plans. Naturally this will all be handled over the phone. To avoid having to take time off from work to handle that little chore, I suggested Saturday morning that Dad gather all of his information and we'd try and call on Monday, which is a holiday for my office. Not the way I wanted to spend my day off, but he's made it quite clear that he expects me to help him through the process. He made a face. Apparently he's not ready yet.
Sunday he informed me that you can call and schedule an appointment with Extend Health. They're open from 8 a.m. until 8 p.m. on weekdays. "So you can do it without taking time off from work." Then he said he'd probably check with the local insurance company that handles BCBS. That's who I have my health insurance with.
"Are they nice people?" he asked. "Most of the people in the office are, but the woman who handles the health insurance is a real bitch," I informed him. "Well you won't have to go talk to her, and I can get along with just about anybody. I manage to live with you," he said with a laugh.
EXCUSE ME?! I still can't believe he said that. I was momentarily speechless. Instead of insulting him in return, I simply informed him that if he was looking for my help, he was going about it in the wrong way. He just laughed.
He may think he's funny, but he's going to be paying for that crack for a long time to come. We had Chicken Divan today. The ingredients for Butternut Squash and Kale Quesadillas are in the fridge. He may not recognize anything I serve for dinner for weeks to come.
Dishpan hands
Friday morning it was raining so Dillon and I couldn't go for our morning walk. I decided to put the time to good use and made a pot of soup. I don't generally cook on Fridays, but I thought homemade soup sounded good and if I fixed it before work, it would be simple enough to heat up when I got home.
Since I was cooking, and I dislike coming home to a counter full of dirty dishes, I tried to wash up as I went along. I left the sink full of hot, soapy water so that I could wash my breakfast dishes as well. I left the kitchen and went to eat breakfast in front of the computer while reading my morning blogs.
When I got back to the kitchen, I discovered that Dad had decided to take advantage of the situation. He had gone back and fetched the glass he uses in his bathroom. He'd generously left the glass and the knife he'd used to cut his banana on the counter beside the sink for me to wash. Heaven forbid that he should actually wash anything himself.
It would be one thing if I'd been standing at the sink in the act of washing dishes. But given that I wasn't even in the room, and there was a sink full of hot, soapy water, you'd think that for once he could have washed up after himself. Instead he was sitting at the table eating his breakfast which would leave me yet more dirty dishes to wash.
I do the dishes every day when I come home from work for lunch while he goes back and sits in his chair. I do the dishes after I cook supper every night while he goes back and sits in his chair. I think every once in a while he needs to get his ass out of the chair and pull his share of the load.
I washed the glass and the knife. Then I went to the table and said, very politely, "I guarantee you that your hands will not melt if you put them in dishwater. So I would appreciate it if you would wash your breakfast dishes when you get through." He looked startled, but laughed. I left the room to dress for work. When I came back, he'd washed his dishes. Needless to say those were the only dishes he washed that day or any day since. The message obviously didn't stick.
Since I was cooking, and I dislike coming home to a counter full of dirty dishes, I tried to wash up as I went along. I left the sink full of hot, soapy water so that I could wash my breakfast dishes as well. I left the kitchen and went to eat breakfast in front of the computer while reading my morning blogs.
When I got back to the kitchen, I discovered that Dad had decided to take advantage of the situation. He had gone back and fetched the glass he uses in his bathroom. He'd generously left the glass and the knife he'd used to cut his banana on the counter beside the sink for me to wash. Heaven forbid that he should actually wash anything himself.
It would be one thing if I'd been standing at the sink in the act of washing dishes. But given that I wasn't even in the room, and there was a sink full of hot, soapy water, you'd think that for once he could have washed up after himself. Instead he was sitting at the table eating his breakfast which would leave me yet more dirty dishes to wash.
I do the dishes every day when I come home from work for lunch while he goes back and sits in his chair. I do the dishes after I cook supper every night while he goes back and sits in his chair. I think every once in a while he needs to get his ass out of the chair and pull his share of the load.
I washed the glass and the knife. Then I went to the table and said, very politely, "I guarantee you that your hands will not melt if you put them in dishwater. So I would appreciate it if you would wash your breakfast dishes when you get through." He looked startled, but laughed. I left the room to dress for work. When I came back, he'd washed his dishes. Needless to say those were the only dishes he washed that day or any day since. The message obviously didn't stick.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
All's well that ends well?
Dad has claimed that his hearing aids were too loud since the first day he got them. Then the right one started hurting his ear so he stopped wearing it. He used his new phone yesterday to call for an appointment to see about getting the right one replaced and both of them turned down. He claimed it was an incredibly frustrating experience. Apparently he spent 15 minutes trying to understand what the woman on the other end of the line was saying.
She wouldn't give him an appointment, but told him to come to the walk-in clinic between 1-3 p.m. The lady we'd seen the day we picked up the hearing aids told him to insist on an appointment because the walk-in clinic would take hours and he'd wind up leaving around rush hour. Dad tried telling the woman on the phone that, but she insisted he had to come to the walk-in clinic.
It was supposed to rain all day today and then turn to snow this evening, so I was not happy about him going to Richmond. I pointed out that since he didn't have an appointment, he could just postpone the visit to a day when the weather would be better. He refused to even consider the idea. He hasn't been able to hear for years, what difference would another few days make?
I was really mad at him this morning when he insisted that he was going. When I got to work, I vented to my coworkers. They all agreed that it wasn't a good day to be on the road. I said that if he had an accident, he'd better hope he was killed outright because otherwise I'd kill him when he got home.
This afternoon, they asked if I'd heard from my father. "No and I won't because he won't use the phone," I said with disgust. "He'll either turn back up or the Highway Patrol will call me at some point." So I was amazed when Dianna came back to tell me that my Dad called and asked her to tell me that he'd gotten back in one piece.
He earned major brownie points for that. I fixed him shrimp for supper. I'll go back to feeding him things he doesn't like tomorrow. He admitted that the drive back had been difficult. It was raining hard and the cars in front were throwing the water up off the road and making it difficult to see. "I wouldn't want to do that again," he finished.
I paused a minute, considered, and then just couldn't resist. "I told you so," I reminded him. "Well, it would just have been worse tomorrow," he replied. "There's supposed to be snow then." So who said he had to go tomorrow? It's not like there was a deadline involved here. He could have waited until next week when it's supposed to be dry and sunny.
He wound up getting to see the tech at 1 p.m. They're ordering him a new pair of hearing aids that will be mailed to the house. The machine that can read the hearing aids' computer and adjust the loudness isn't hooked up yet, so they didn't make any changes to the volume. Fingers crossed that the next pair will work better for him.
I don't like worrying and I don't appreciate Dad doing things that make me have to worry unnecessarily. I guess all's well that ends well. He made it there and back, just like he said he would. He admitted that the drive was rough, just like I said it would be. So we were both right. But I was righter.
She wouldn't give him an appointment, but told him to come to the walk-in clinic between 1-3 p.m. The lady we'd seen the day we picked up the hearing aids told him to insist on an appointment because the walk-in clinic would take hours and he'd wind up leaving around rush hour. Dad tried telling the woman on the phone that, but she insisted he had to come to the walk-in clinic.
It was supposed to rain all day today and then turn to snow this evening, so I was not happy about him going to Richmond. I pointed out that since he didn't have an appointment, he could just postpone the visit to a day when the weather would be better. He refused to even consider the idea. He hasn't been able to hear for years, what difference would another few days make?
I was really mad at him this morning when he insisted that he was going. When I got to work, I vented to my coworkers. They all agreed that it wasn't a good day to be on the road. I said that if he had an accident, he'd better hope he was killed outright because otherwise I'd kill him when he got home.
This afternoon, they asked if I'd heard from my father. "No and I won't because he won't use the phone," I said with disgust. "He'll either turn back up or the Highway Patrol will call me at some point." So I was amazed when Dianna came back to tell me that my Dad called and asked her to tell me that he'd gotten back in one piece.
He earned major brownie points for that. I fixed him shrimp for supper. I'll go back to feeding him things he doesn't like tomorrow. He admitted that the drive back had been difficult. It was raining hard and the cars in front were throwing the water up off the road and making it difficult to see. "I wouldn't want to do that again," he finished.
I paused a minute, considered, and then just couldn't resist. "I told you so," I reminded him. "Well, it would just have been worse tomorrow," he replied. "There's supposed to be snow then." So who said he had to go tomorrow? It's not like there was a deadline involved here. He could have waited until next week when it's supposed to be dry and sunny.
He wound up getting to see the tech at 1 p.m. They're ordering him a new pair of hearing aids that will be mailed to the house. The machine that can read the hearing aids' computer and adjust the loudness isn't hooked up yet, so they didn't make any changes to the volume. Fingers crossed that the next pair will work better for him.
I don't like worrying and I don't appreciate Dad doing things that make me have to worry unnecessarily. I guess all's well that ends well. He made it there and back, just like he said he would. He admitted that the drive was rough, just like I said it would be. So we were both right. But I was righter.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Honey, I'm Home
I look forward to Friday nights. I love my job, but it can be hard work and by the time Friday rolls around, I'm looking forward to a couple of days off. Friday nights are the best because the whole weekend stretches in front of me ready to fill however I choose. This past Friday had the additional bonus of a college hockey doubleheader on tv and the prospect of an end to the months long NHL lockout. I was going to fix spaghetti for supper and then put on pj's and settle in front of the tv.
I walked in the door feeling really good. That lasted until I hit the den. When Dad informed me grumpily that Citigroup was cancelling retiree participation in their health plan effective March 31. "You and I have a lot of work ahead of us," he said. "You have a lot of work ahead, not me," I replied. "Well I'm going to need your help," he said firmly.
It's not that I don't think this is going to be a headache. It's not that I'm not sympathetic. But Dad's way too quick to try and dump things in my lap that he's capable of handling for himself. And why did he have to lie in wait and hit me with it as soon as I walked in the door? We've got some lead time. He could have waited until we sat down to eat, or even better, until Saturday. He didn't have to ruin my weekend before it even began.
You remember the old I Love Lucy show? Lucy didn't hit Ricky with bad news as soon as he got home. She smoothed the way first, asked how his day was, offered him a drink or dinner. Then she gradually, gently presented the bad news.
I try not to share bad news with my father at all. No point in both of us being worried and upset. If I have no choice, I try to work up to the subject and present it in the best possible light. I don't act like the world is coming to an end and dump it on him as soon as humanly possible.
He made me so mad I immediately decided that I was definitely going to try the new recipe I saw on The Pioneer Woman Cooks website for butternut squash and kale quesadillas. He earned them.
I walked in the door feeling really good. That lasted until I hit the den. When Dad informed me grumpily that Citigroup was cancelling retiree participation in their health plan effective March 31. "You and I have a lot of work ahead of us," he said. "You have a lot of work ahead, not me," I replied. "Well I'm going to need your help," he said firmly.
It's not that I don't think this is going to be a headache. It's not that I'm not sympathetic. But Dad's way too quick to try and dump things in my lap that he's capable of handling for himself. And why did he have to lie in wait and hit me with it as soon as I walked in the door? We've got some lead time. He could have waited until we sat down to eat, or even better, until Saturday. He didn't have to ruin my weekend before it even began.
You remember the old I Love Lucy show? Lucy didn't hit Ricky with bad news as soon as he got home. She smoothed the way first, asked how his day was, offered him a drink or dinner. Then she gradually, gently presented the bad news.
I try not to share bad news with my father at all. No point in both of us being worried and upset. If I have no choice, I try to work up to the subject and present it in the best possible light. I don't act like the world is coming to an end and dump it on him as soon as humanly possible.
He made me so mad I immediately decided that I was definitely going to try the new recipe I saw on The Pioneer Woman Cooks website for butternut squash and kale quesadillas. He earned them.
Monday, January 7, 2013
But I want you forever
This is the 6th anniversary of Mom's death. I recently read an article written by another woman who lost her mother to breast cancer. She said that her young son had recently told her one night when he was protesting her leaving the room after putting him to bed, "But I want you forever." That summed up her feelings about the loss of her mother.
When Mom died, at first it was a relief in a way. Her days of pain and suffering the indignities of illness were over. So was the constant fear and worry for me. Then Dad moved in and there was the period of adjustment. While the pain of loss has diminished, I still miss her presence, her laughter, her solution to most any problem, the sharing of the day's events. I can only echo that young boy's cry, "But I want you forever."
When Mom died, at first it was a relief in a way. Her days of pain and suffering the indignities of illness were over. So was the constant fear and worry for me. Then Dad moved in and there was the period of adjustment. While the pain of loss has diminished, I still miss her presence, her laughter, her solution to most any problem, the sharing of the day's events. I can only echo that young boy's cry, "But I want you forever."
Sunday, January 6, 2013
A true gentleman
Mr. Al, our former next door neighbor for over 40 years in Baltimore, died this weekend. My mother once told me that Mr. Al was a true gentleman. If he happened to be out front in the morning when she was going out to get the newspaper in her robe, he'd gallantly pretend that he didn't see her. Any other time, he always called a greeting or waved, but not then. Mom appreciated that small courtesy.
In memory of Mr. Al and with sympathy to Sidney-Anne, the daughter he left behind.
SHIFTING THE SUN
When your father dies, say the Irish
you lose your umbrella against bad weather.
May his sun be your light, say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the Welsh
you sink a foot deeper into the earth.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the Canadians
you run out of excuses.
May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the Indians
he comes back as the thunder.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the Russians,
he takes your childhood with him.
May you inherit his light say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the British,
you join his club you vowed you wouldn’t.
May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the Armenians,
your sun shifts forever
and you walk in his light.
~ Diana Der-Hovanessian ~
In memory of Mr. Al and with sympathy to Sidney-Anne, the daughter he left behind.
SHIFTING THE SUN
When your father dies, say the Irish
you lose your umbrella against bad weather.
May his sun be your light, say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the Welsh
you sink a foot deeper into the earth.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the Canadians
you run out of excuses.
May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the Indians
he comes back as the thunder.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the Russians,
he takes your childhood with him.
May you inherit his light say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the British,
you join his club you vowed you wouldn’t.
May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians.
When your father dies, say the Armenians,
your sun shifts forever
and you walk in his light.
~ Diana Der-Hovanessian ~
Blinded by the white
On the way to breakfast this morning, I noticed that Dad was wearing white socks. They were quite obvious because his jeans only come to his ankles. All he needed was a piece of rope around his waist for a belt to complete the look.
"Don't you have any blue socks?" I asked. "Why?" he asked. "Because I don't like your white socks with those jeans," I replied. "I wondered how long before you'd notice," he laughed. "It's hard not to notice when your pants only come to your ankles," I said.
Apparently he's wearing white socks because he has a sore spot on one of his heels. "What does color have to do with having a sore spot on your heel?" "The white socks are softer," he answered. "Then you need to wear a longer pair of pants," I suggested. "Just don't look below my knees," he instructed. "It's hard not to when I'm being blinded by flashes of white socks," I responded.
He has an appointment with the foot doctor tomorrow morning. Hopefully his foot will heal quickly and he'll go back to his normal black socks. His pants will still be too short, but at least it won't be quite as obvious.
"Don't you have any blue socks?" I asked. "Why?" he asked. "Because I don't like your white socks with those jeans," I replied. "I wondered how long before you'd notice," he laughed. "It's hard not to notice when your pants only come to your ankles," I said.
Apparently he's wearing white socks because he has a sore spot on one of his heels. "What does color have to do with having a sore spot on your heel?" "The white socks are softer," he answered. "Then you need to wear a longer pair of pants," I suggested. "Just don't look below my knees," he instructed. "It's hard not to when I'm being blinded by flashes of white socks," I responded.
He has an appointment with the foot doctor tomorrow morning. Hopefully his foot will heal quickly and he'll go back to his normal black socks. His pants will still be too short, but at least it won't be quite as obvious.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Dad should run for Congress
Just like our elected officials, he has the ability to put off something until it becomes a crisis. Dad uses a mail-order pharmacy. He got the doctor to write him new prescriptions for all of his medications at his last appointment in September. He didn't send them off to be filled until two weeks ago. During the height of the Christmas rush. In which they apparently got lost.
The first I knew of this was last night when he mentioned that it was unusual for Express Scripts to take so long to fill a prescription. He'd mailed his off two weeks ago and they weren't here yet. "I had the prescriptions since September, but I didn't need them then," he told me. "I'll wait a few more days and see if they turn up."
Why he insists on waiting until the last minute to fill a prescription is beyond me. It's not like the medicine is going to cost less later on or go bad sitting on the counter for a couple of weeks or even a month or more. It's better to have it on hand than cut it too close and risk running out. I called Express Scripts and their automated system said there were no orders in progress or filled within the last two weeks.
So, Dad went to his doctor's office this morning to get them to fax the prescriptions to Express Scripts. Last time they were supposed to send them directly to the company, it never got done. In addition, it seems like everyone in town has some version of the flu, bronchitis, strep throat, or other walking crud. So the last place I wanted him to be was at a doctor's office surrounded by sick people.
All of this could have been avoided if he'd mailed off the prescriptions back in September instead of waiting until December. Yep, he's definitely ready to run for Congress.
The first I knew of this was last night when he mentioned that it was unusual for Express Scripts to take so long to fill a prescription. He'd mailed his off two weeks ago and they weren't here yet. "I had the prescriptions since September, but I didn't need them then," he told me. "I'll wait a few more days and see if they turn up."
Why he insists on waiting until the last minute to fill a prescription is beyond me. It's not like the medicine is going to cost less later on or go bad sitting on the counter for a couple of weeks or even a month or more. It's better to have it on hand than cut it too close and risk running out. I called Express Scripts and their automated system said there were no orders in progress or filled within the last two weeks.
So, Dad went to his doctor's office this morning to get them to fax the prescriptions to Express Scripts. Last time they were supposed to send them directly to the company, it never got done. In addition, it seems like everyone in town has some version of the flu, bronchitis, strep throat, or other walking crud. So the last place I wanted him to be was at a doctor's office surrounded by sick people.
All of this could have been avoided if he'd mailed off the prescriptions back in September instead of waiting until December. Yep, he's definitely ready to run for Congress.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Can you hear me now?
Dad got his new hearing aids today. Before, he couldn't hear a thing. I had to shout and repeat myself a minimum of 4 times whenever I tried to talk to him. Now, he's complaining that he hears everything and I'm talking too loud. The tv, set at a normal volume, sounds as though it's blaring. Gee, given that's what I've been living with for years, I don't feel a lot of sympathy.
The new hearing aids are digital and far advanced from the 5-year old hearing aids they replaced. The technician told him she was afraid they might be set too loud given that Dad immediately adjusted them down quite a bit. They were set according to his hearing test, so she wants him to give them a try for a couple of weeks. Apparently, the hearing aids' internal computer captures information from how he adjusts them over a period of time and that will help them if the hearing aids need to be reset.
I went with him this time which was good because the technician gave him a lot of information to absorb at one time. I told her about Dad's difficulty in hearing on the telephone. She immediately said there is a special phone that is designed to work with hearing aids and has a louder volume control. She's ordering one for him and the VA will cover the cost. He would never have even brought it up, so I'm glad I went.
When I went out to call him for supper, I could barely hear his tv. I had offered to go out first and turn it on so that I could turn the volume down for him. I had visions of him being blasted to the floor when he heard it. He apparently decided to handle it himself. Unlike the telephone.
He informed me that he needed me to call and schedule his haircut. "You can do it yourself. You can hear now," I informed him. "But I don't have my new phone yet," he complained. "So try the regular phone and see how it works," I ordered. "It'll probably sound like a hurricane," he groused. "You won't know until you try," I stood my ground.
I told him earlier when he was complaining about being able to hear everything that I didn't really think he wanted to hear. It provided a handy excuse for every conversation he wanted to avoid and telephone call he didn't want to be bothered with. I don't doubt that being hard of hearing is frustrating, but he's also used it as a convenient excuse that he doesn't seem in a hurry to give up.
The new hearing aids are digital and far advanced from the 5-year old hearing aids they replaced. The technician told him she was afraid they might be set too loud given that Dad immediately adjusted them down quite a bit. They were set according to his hearing test, so she wants him to give them a try for a couple of weeks. Apparently, the hearing aids' internal computer captures information from how he adjusts them over a period of time and that will help them if the hearing aids need to be reset.
I went with him this time which was good because the technician gave him a lot of information to absorb at one time. I told her about Dad's difficulty in hearing on the telephone. She immediately said there is a special phone that is designed to work with hearing aids and has a louder volume control. She's ordering one for him and the VA will cover the cost. He would never have even brought it up, so I'm glad I went.
When I went out to call him for supper, I could barely hear his tv. I had offered to go out first and turn it on so that I could turn the volume down for him. I had visions of him being blasted to the floor when he heard it. He apparently decided to handle it himself. Unlike the telephone.
He informed me that he needed me to call and schedule his haircut. "You can do it yourself. You can hear now," I informed him. "But I don't have my new phone yet," he complained. "So try the regular phone and see how it works," I ordered. "It'll probably sound like a hurricane," he groused. "You won't know until you try," I stood my ground.
I told him earlier when he was complaining about being able to hear everything that I didn't really think he wanted to hear. It provided a handy excuse for every conversation he wanted to avoid and telephone call he didn't want to be bothered with. I don't doubt that being hard of hearing is frustrating, but he's also used it as a convenient excuse that he doesn't seem in a hurry to give up.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Happy New Year!
This picture of Dillon and me was taken on Christmas Eve. Like the good boy that he is, Dillon was looking directly at the camera and the flash gave him a serious case of pet eye in the picture. Those are reindeer antlers on my head. I decided to cast my dignity to the wind and go for the laugh. I got one out of the UPS man when he caught sight of me.
Neither Dad nor I stayed up to ring in the New Year. It's a good thing I went to bed fairly early because Dillon decided to bark in the New Year. He woke me up several times with prolonged periods of barking. I expected him to be restless because firecrackers started going off early in the evening, but the barking caught me by surprise. I don't know what had him so riled up, but he was certainly letting all creatures large and small that were anywhere close to the house know that he was on guard.
After watching the Tournament of Roses Parade, Dad and I had collards and black-eyed peas for lunch today. My black-eyed peas turned out very well if I do say so myself. I'm never sure how much salt to add, but this time I got it right. The collards are easy, I just cook them in chicken broth straight out of the carton.
"Now we'll be healthy, wealthy and wise, right?" I said when Dad complimented the meal. "I'll settle for two out of three," he replied. "If I'm healthy and wealthy I can stand being stupid." While I don't dispute the merits of health and wealth, I don't think I have the patience to live with someone stupid, so he'd better hope for all three.
I'm not big on New Year's resolutions. Why set myself up for failure? I do plan to try and get back on schedule with blogging. The video card on my old computer died early in December so I was unable to do much of anything for a week or so. The learning curve for the new computer has been steep. I like my new computer, it's much faster than my old one, but I'm not a fan of Windows 8. It's just not designed for desktops and I'm having to relearn practically everything about how to do even the simplest thing. Why couldn't they leave well enough alone?
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