The donkey

This morning at church we had a special musical program.   It was the Easter version of Lessons and Carols.   The handbell choir didn't perform any solo numbers, but some of us accompanied the choir on a couple of pieces. We were in the choir loft where space is limited.  So to avoid mass confusion and potential disruption of the service, Jane decided only one person should be responsible for setting up the bells for each piece.  I'm not sure how she decided that one person should be me. 

I had a list of what was supposed to go where, but not where it was coming from.   I was terrified of screwing up and being responsible for someone playing the wrong note or not having a bell.  Jane assured me that I'd have plenty of time to move things into place while the choir was singing other hymns.  I told the choir members to be prepared to just ignore me when I panicked.  They thought I was kidding. 

I was furiously making notes right before the service.  Jane looked over in concern and asked if I was going to be okay.  I assured her that by the time I was finished diagramming everything, I'd be fine.   Apparently the other ringers felt sorry for me, or were afraid to leave their bells in my hands, so a couple of them organized their own bells.  Which made all my notes and diagramming worthless. 

Fortunately, all of the bells did get to the right places at the right time.  I didn't manage to ring mine at all of the right times, but everything worked out fine.  I even got listed in the bulletin as an assistant not just a ringer.   Which was especially generous of Jane since I skipped practice last Sunday in favor of watching  Carolina lose the Championship game in the ACC Tournament. 

I'm not sure if there was a lesson there or not.  After I told Jane that being in the vocal choir would interfere with watching my ice hockey in the winter, the NHL lockout happened and there was no ice hockey for half a season.  I'm beginning to think someone's trying to tell me I need to reorder my priorities.

At least I'm in church often enough that the preacher knows my name.  Dad still claims he can't hear and only goes when we're doing a full handbell concert.  He's been known to skip those if there's a game on tv that he wants to see.  Oh God, I'm becoming my father.

An apple a day....

Dad has started eating an apple every day for lunch.  Not a sandwich and an apple, just an apple.  He uses the new paring knife he bought to replace the one that he threw away disappeared and carefully cuts it into sections.  He and Dillon seem to enjoy it.  Dad always shares the scraps with Dillon and Dillon loves apples. 

I'm glad they're happy.  I'd prefer that Dad go back to eating sandwiches at lunch.  Sandwiches don't have pricing labels stuck on them like apples do.  When Dad is preparing his apple, he removes the label and sticks it to the kitchen sink.  Where he leaves it, forever. 

At first, I thought he'd simply forgotten that he'd left the label sticking to the sink.  So instead of getting mad every time I had to throw it away, I reminded him that he should throw the label away instead of just leaving it there for me to clean up.  He told me that it would be too bad if I didn't have something to complain about.  I assured him there was no danger of that happening.  Especially since he keeps leaving the apple label stuck to the sink.

It drives me crazy.  It's in the way of my wiping down the sink after I do the dishes.  And I'm not the maid.  I tried just leaving it there hoping he'd go back and throw it away after he finished eating.  When that didn't work, I just left it there when I cleaned up after lunch.  It was still there at supper and again I ignored it. 

It was still there the following morning, so when I put up the clean dishes, I put away everything.  I normally leave out a bowl since I know he's going to use one and the knife that he likes to use to cut his banana and a spoon for his cereal.  This time I put everything away.  First, because payback is hell.  Second, I hoped if the area was clear, he'd notice that stupid label and throw it away.

It didn't disappear before breakfast, but it was gone by lunch.  Of course, the next day there was another label stuck to the sink when I came home for lunch.  If he keeps it up, the old adage about an apple a day keeping the doctor away is definitely going to be put to the test because I'm liable to do him bodily harm.

Forks on the left, spoons on the right

Dad has a bad habit of keeping the serving spoon or fork when he fixes his plate of food.  When I go to dip my serving, there's no utensil with the dish because he's got it on his plate.  I pointed this out to him yet again the other day.  He told me he was sure there are worse sins in the world.  I thought a minute and informed him that he was probably guilty of those as well.

What's Up?

A few weeks ago, Dad woke up with an upset stomach.  I knew he was spending a lot longer getting ready than normal and I kept hearing the toilet flush.  Then I heard a huge "boom."  I knocked on his bedroom door and called.  No answer.  I pushed the door open and called again.  Still no answer. 

I finally stood outside his bathroom door and yelled.  I heard a faint sound.  I went in and discovered Dad on his hands and knees on the floor.  His pants were down around his knees, but his back was to me and his shirt tail mostly protected his modesty.  "I got dizzy," he finally managed to say.  I stood to the side, holding his arms, prepared to help him up when he was ready. 

Dillon had followed me into the bathroom.  Being a dog, he did what comes naturally and tried to sniff Dad's butt.  In doggie terms, Dad was practically issuing an engraved invitation.  Dad doesn't want his butt sniffed at the best of times and this was definitely not the best of times.  I pushed Dillon back.  Luckily, Dad was still so out of it than he didn't realize what was going on. 

I helped Dad up and back to bed.  I called in to work and told them Dad was sick and I'd be in later if he felt better.  He was okay by lunchtime.  Fortunately, he didn't hit anything on the way down, so other than sore knees, he was okay.  I told him if he was going to make a practice of falling like that (pretty much exactly like he fell on Christmas except this time he didn't hit his head) he was going to have to start wearing knee pads and maybe a helmet.

This morning, I heard the toilet in his bathroom flush several times in quick succession.  He stayed in his bedroom for a long time.  I was afraid we were in for a repeat performance.  He finally came out.  "Are you okay?" I asked.  "Yes, why?" he wanted to know.  "You were in there for a long time.  I was waiting for the crash," I said.  "I was trying to figure out which socks I was going to give away," he replied.

He's been gathering things to take to Angel's Closet for a while now.  Since he generally wears his socks until the elastic gives out and they won't stay up or until they have holes in the heels and toes, I can't imagine how he found any socks to donate.  I just shook my head and went to work.