Please worry about me

The phone message from Dad is, "I'm in terrible shape. Please worry about me." I do worry. I have a black belt in worry.

Trouble is, I already spent two hours with Dad and another frustrating hour with his Medicare D prescription plan provider's phone menu today. I'm practicing balance, limits, and self-preservation now that Dad is just a few blocks down the street instead of 650 miles away.

Where can I get a WWYDIYWBIN wristband for Dad? Where can I get a WWIDIHWBIN bracelet for myself?

What would I do if Howie was back in Nebraska?

Dad, what would you do if you were back there?

How on earth do elderly people manage to find their way through the darn insurance phone menus? HOEDEPMTFTWTTDIPM would require a wristband as big as a hula hoop!

After a dismal noon mealtime with Dad Sunday, I needed a 1/3 lb. bacon cheeseburger with fries ASAP. Caregiving is going to make me a blimp in time for the Super Bowl! Got calls from a son and my sister while sitting in the booth. Knowing I have their emotional support is essential.

Still sitting and slurping my Barq's, I read Karen M. Thomas' essay in the Dallas Morning News instead of skipping to the Sudoku puzzle. This poignant feature had tears streaming down my cheeks right there in the burger joint. 

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Yesterday I took the train to CityPlace Station, and a bus to Preston & Beverly, then walked to work at the library. Left the Buick in Plano. I can't write comments on the Morning News blogs supporting mass transit if I don't ride it. Right?

So, when I walk out of the library at 5:40 the sky is a bit cloudy. By the time I'm walking through the shopping area it is windy and sprinkling. If I'd had any sense I would have waited for the bus outside the Tex-Mex restaurant, but I had time to kill, so I walked up McKinney to the next stop. It's raining, but it feels refreshing. At the stop a sprinkler system or storm sewer has gone haywire and is shooting gallons of water into the air in front of some trendy apartments AND fireworks are exploding in a tree. Lots of fireworks whizzing around, and big dogs running like crazy. So I walk on north up McKinney to where I think the next stop must be. And walking, and walking. My cell phone is ringing. It's Dad. I don't try to answer because the hail is marble size and I'm standing under an awning asking patio bar customers where the bus stop is. They look at me like I'm a crazy homeless bag lady, which I am starting to resemble. So I keep walking north figuring I have to find a bus stop or Mockingbird Station eventually. Once you are soaked to the skin it's not bad once the hail stops. Kind of like running through the sprinkler fully-clothed as a kid. Finally find a bus stop and the bus arrives. I leave a puddle on the bus.

At Mockingbird Station I call Dad back while I'm waiting for the train. He's gotten himself into a panic, calling and calling my sister and I at our various numbers and getting no one, no longer knowing who he is dialing. He says he's got a big problem. I figure he's fallen on the floor again and can't remember to push the call button. No, he got a bill and he wants to write a check, but he can't tell me who the bill is from or for how much. He's all into how the bill had been forwarded in the mail. And he's got to pay it by the 25th of something, but he's not sure what.

So I'm standing there dripping wet, talking loudly into my cell phone about Milk of Magnesia and Rx charges to my father who can't hear. Some people are moving away. Others are coming up to me to ask the time. A train goes by. I try to explain to Dad that this is not the best moment for me and I'll call him when I'm dry, but he's too anxious about the bill. Okay, he can write the check and stamp the envelope. Then I realize he will try to get out of his chair to go find the stamps in the drawer. Sigh. I've got most of the bills coming to me or automatically paid, but this one snuck through.

I stand up on the train all the way home, dripping, so I don't leave a wet seat for some unwary passenger.

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Silver and stainless

The Dallas Museum of Art's exhibit, Modernism in American Silver, running June 18 – September 24, 2006, leaves me far colder than a long handled spoon in a tall glass of iced sweet tea. A few bowls in natural, asymmetrical forms please me, along with a simple glass bowl on a silver base creating geometric shadows and rainbows. The highpoint of the exhibit it the "Celestial centerpiece" with its beautiful, thin tapers and sapphire dandelion fluff. This centerpiece was designed for an exhibit at the 1962 Seattle World's Fair.

The dandelion fluff on the Dallas skyline is the Reunion Tower. I enjoyed looking at all the lighted buildings of downtown Dallas during last evening's Late Night at the Dallas Museum of Art. The DMA's website rarely works, so I won't add it here. Late Night is a monthly event sponsored by Starbucks with activities and music for all ages on a theme connected to one of the current exhibitions. Last evening's theme was the World's Fair.

The idea of a World's Fair was confusing stuff to a second grader in the years of the Mercury manned suborbital missions. What was that space needle? Did it give shots? The monorail was more kid friendly. It was the transportation of the Future! All I knew, I probably learned from My Weekly Reader!

My tastes in silver, stainless, and other tableware was already being formed in 1962. The "modernism" silver pieces at the DMA do not have the simple, clean, elegant shapes of the stainless serving dishes and trays my mother preferred. Her stainless is timeless, and much respected today. The silver of Gorham and Reed and Barton on display look quite ridiculous, like someone trying to hard to be cubist or Jetson space age.

This Elvis movie was being projected on the Ross Street plaza wall outside the museum. Silly stuff with Elvis taking a little girl to the fair and playing ukelele. The sort of stuff your mother, or at least my mother, warned me never to do. (I probably didn't need a warning about ukeleles, just strangers at fairs.)

So many World's Fair predictions for the future never materialized. I'm going to have to track down a recording of the Firesign Theatre's "I Think We're All Bozos On this Bus" to hear the robotic President at the Future Fair. Just remember, "the Future's not here yet!"