Saturday, February 28, 2009

The ER

Tonight, instead of going to the closing of my friend Linda's art exhibit, as I had been looking forward to doing, I had to take my father to the ER again. He needed to have his catheter removed and replaced, as he had developed a bit of an infection and I didn't want things to get worse, the way they did last month, when the infection almost killed him.
The ER was hairy, as usual. If anything, they didn't keep us as long as they generally do, but I felt ready to scream. I had to restrain myself. As it is, there were plenty of people already screaming for me. Some poor guy was shrieking in pain. There was a guy flailing around, children with injuries, an old person covered in wounds. It was definitely one of those nights.
Instead of going out to eat at a carefully chosen restaurant with my friend and colleague Kay, and enjoying looking at art and speaking to the artists about it, I was going to have to sit for hours at the hospital yet again, hungry, thirsty, and without anything to read.
But it's over now. I can go to bed. Let's hope I don't have to go back for a while.

Friday, February 27, 2009

Another week, another breakdown

I am definitely overdoing it. Besides my two classes, my parents (with all that entails), my son who needs me to drive him places now that he has lost his license for a year, the choir, the Torah group, and my wonderlust, I don't have enough hours in the day or days in the week to get things done. I haven't been to the movies or had time just to sit down and read for way too long, and my house is a worse nightmare of confusion than usual. Add to this various ill people I ought to be visiting and am feeling guilty about!! UGH. I just want to hide for a little while.
But I'm glad I didn't hide from my class last night. We are now about 10 people, but I see progress breaking out all over among these remaining folks. The class seems to love doing the 40 minute assignments I give, for example. Last night we studied some poems with exceptional endings of various kinds, including James Wright's "Lying on a Hammock at Wm. Duffy's Farm," "Ode on a Grecian Urn," "The Snow Man," and a couple poems by Stanley Kunitz. Following this, I wrote several flat statements on the board, such as "What's wrong with eating alone?" and "No one answered" and asked them to choose one or write their own as the ending of a short image-heavy poem along the lines of Wright's poem. There were some interesting responses.
I promised a field trip, and now I am trying to find time in my schedule to fit it in. Clearly, I will have to forego yoga class. There is no reason I cannot practice on my own for one day. But somehow, things always get in the way... sales calls, calls from my parents, the cat shitting in the hall, etc.
But I promised we would go out to eat before class one day, if people were interested. There's no reason not to make it next week. There seemed to be enthusiasm for Whole Foods. While I find it expensive and crowded, I'm willing to go there. It's one way to be sure everyone gets the food s/he wants to eat. We have at least one vegetarian, and I am notoriously fussy myself about what I eat. I know I can find things I like there.
More on how it goes another day. Please excuse me for being lacksidaisical about writing this blog though. I'm struggling.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

The Usual Suspects

When a person lives in one place for a long time, as I have, she meets most of the strange and interesting people in the area. This was especially true because I used to ride the bus because I didn't drive. When my son was about 4 or 5, we rode the bus everywhere, spending hours sometimes on the bus. I would shlep home bags of groceries and other junk, pulling along a reluctant and often sleepy child to boot. That was why we used a stroller much longer than most people usually do. It made a handy place to put all those packages, but then I had to carry it on and off the bus.

One of those times, I met an elderly Russian-Jewish woman. She was dressed in typical Babushka garb--a skirt that swept her ankles, long sleeves, and a head-covering, often the metonymous head scarf (she was Orthodox, naturally). She pinched my son's cheek and asked if we went to shul, and whether he was going to have a bar mitzvah, though that would have been a long way off at that time. And somehow it came up that he was born without a foreskin, a sure sign he was either an angel or the budding mashiach (messiah) in her view. In her heavy accent, she would tell me about the pogroms she had lived through in Russia, and how she had come to the U.S. My Russian was nowhere near good enough for me to tell her to speak to me in Russian, and her English was barely servicable, so we limped along, with neither one of us probably understanding more than one word in 3.
As long as I would ride the buses, I would run into her on a regular basis, usually on Friday afternoons, when she was on her way to synagogue. Strictly speaking, she was not supposed to ride on Shabbos, but she said that the Rebbe had given her special dispensation because of her age and because she lived too far away to walk to services.
But actually, she was a mighty walker, this woman who had to have been at least in her late 80s at that time, and older as the years went on. The last time I saw her, I was already driving. It was August, and one of those extremely hot and humid days when no one probably ought to be out walking a distance, especially an elderly person wheeling a folding grocery cart. But there she was, on her way up the street to Ralphs. She had at least three blocks to go, so I stopped and asked if she would like a ride.
At first she looked at me suspiciously, but then slid in, folding her cart across her lap, an awkward burden that took up most of the space in the passenger seat. She told me she liked to walk, that Americans were weak, and that she never listened to her daughter's pleas to take a ride wherever she wanted to go. I decided then to stay with her in the store and bring her home afterwards, and all the while she spoke to me about how we Americans should not be so foolish to believe what our government was telling us, and particularly how Jews could never trust the people in power, who would always want us dead, in her view.
Somewhere between the produce aisle and the checkout stand, she collapsed, and I called in the store's management to help (it was before I had a cell phone). But she looked at me with pity. "Don't you know," she warned me, "you can never show your weakness, or they will kill you." I tried to assure her that this was the U.S., not Russia, that it was safe, more than safe, necessary, to call 911 and go to the hospital. That I would call the Rebbe or whomever she wished to assure her of this. But she insisted on going home, so I packed her back in the car with an icebag on her forehead, and took her to her daughter, who sighed and said that this was what she lived with. Her mother was stronger and more stubborn than she was, this woman who was probably the age I am now at that time. She told me how superstitious and paranoid her mother was, how strange her ways were. It was clear that the daughter was completely exhausted and exasperated, in a way that I can now fully appreciate.
Years passed, and I saw no more of the elderly woman or of her daughter. I am sure that the old woman is dead, but every time I pass the corner where I picked her up that hot August day, particularly at night, I can pick out her bent-over figure on the corner, waving a withered hand.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

The Torah Continues...

Tonight is another meeting of the Torah group. We've gotten to a very interesting part of Genesis: the story of Jacob and Rachel/Rachel and Leah/Jacob and his brother Esau redux. At this point in the book, all of the previous themes have been woven together like a handful of braided ribbons: the overthrow of primogeniture; women's rather direct relationship with the divine and their hand in shaping history; deception as a way of furthering this destiny, etc.
I am interested to hear what other members of the group have to say about these themes, and how they have intensified in complexity and meaning as we have been going along.

Monday, February 23, 2009

Mongolian BBQ

Today I took my dad to the VA and afterwards to lunch at a Mongolian BBQ I've had my eye on. It was great fun, though the sauce was nowhere near thick or spicy enough! I will have to complain. Apparently, I'm good at that.
Despite the lack of spice, the selection at this place was excellent. For those of you who have never gone to a Mongolian BBQ, it's a wonderful conceit: you get a bunch of frozen meat that looks rather like plastic sushi in great chunks. These places generally have a good selection, and include among them my favorite: lamb. Yes I know that lambs are cute and all that, but let's face it... if you are going to eat meat, you shouldn't concern yourself too much with that. I don't eat veal because of the cruelty involved in raising that animal, but a permit myself an occasional meal of lamb.
ANyhow, the meat, whatever kind you get, is slice thin and is frozen. Then there are bins and bins of fresh vegetables, like slivers of brocolli, onions, green onions, water chestnuts, baby corncobs, cabbage, cilantro, mushrooms, etc. There is even tofu and noodles if you want to make the meal entirely vegetarian. While you're piling as much as you can shove into the bowls (a lot of fun), dropping stuff as you go, the waiter is putting hot puffy "biscuits" at the table, which are rather like small, elongated pitas that you are supposed to put the meat and vegetable mixture into and eat it.
Then you make your sauce. There are recipes that recommend how to make it spicy, mild, etc., and there are extra sauces not in the recipes, such as curry sauce. Next time I will pile on the chili sauce. There's lots of ginger water, lemon water, and chopped garlic too. I'll put more of all this stuff in next time. And then you sprinkle on sesame seeds and hand the whole mess to the cook, who stirs in around on a big metal drum until it's finished, then puts it back into your bowl. While I suppose that isn't the most sanitary thing to do, I have been eating such stuff for years and never suffered a whit from it. The place is otherwise spotless.
We had a wonderful time, and enjoyed the food quite a bit.

Saturday, February 21, 2009


I ended up taking the rice after all, the almost the entire pot (3 cups of rice originally) was eaten up, so I guess people liked it, though it was burnt at the bottom instead of crisp, mushy instead of having each grain distinct, the way it was supposed to be. But I am very glad I went.
The house in which the party was held was exceptional. It was facing the ocean in Capistrano, overlooking it, really. When I got there this afternoon, a circle of multicolored sailboats were gathered directly in front of the window, like a painting, and every wall was covered with plein air oils (0riginals of course). There was art in every crevice, from carvings taken from Mexican and central American churches, to museum quality Chinese ceramics and Japanese bronze sculptures, to painted tile covering every surface, and it was eclectic, but somehow all harmonized wonderfully.
We had a tour from the host, who is a businessman and collector of art, a good one, with a very strong eye. He said that his wife's parents had lived in a house on this lot, but the house burned down about 28 years ago, killing his mother-in-law. His wife wanted to build a house there, so he dreamed one up. He designed everything, even a little room adjoining the bath for drying underwear or bathing suits. He said that usually when one imagines something and then realizes the dream, the actuality generally leaves something to be desired, but in the case of this house, which he built in the unbelievable space of one year, the actuality was far better than the original imagining. I can believe that, because this place was as close to perfect as any I could imagine.
It was a Spanish hacienda, two story, with wonderful carved doors and nooks everywhere where a person could sit and read or simply look out the window, and a wonderful jungly garden in the front of the house. I am very glad I went to that party.
Usually I am not impressed by opulence. I have been to many beautiful homes that could have been in House Beautiful, but I could never imagine living there. This place was different. It was like visiting a museum for living. And the food was good too.


I am going to a yoga potluck today. I have a reputation among this group as a stellar cook, but today's effort has fallen flat, I'm afraid. I've made Persian rice with sour cherries before, but with a different recipe. This one didn't work. I needed to let the rice cool, and it was a bit mushy to begin with because the recipe was not precise. Yuck. Now I will have to go buy a cake or something. I'll make it a nice one, to console my food fans.

Friday, February 20, 2009

People having a hard time

For once, I am not having a particularly difficult time with my parents or much of anything. My classes are stable, if small, but people around me are having trouble. My friend Lou, who responds to posts when no one else does, is struggling with her ailing husband, trying to fit care for him, doctor's appointments, attention, and recreation, into a life already packed with work from her profession as an English professor. She is feeling that frustration I often describe here, as if she is being torn in two--wanting to get her work done, wanting to take care of business with her husband, but unable to do both because doctors don't care what a person's schedule is. They don't ask, and they don't understand that we can't be flexible like lawyers and such.
At the same time, one very fine student of mine in the comp class dropped without telling me why. I knew she had to take her son into the psychiatrist for a diagnosis and was about to enter into a regime of treatment for the boy. But unexpectedly, it turned out he had autism, not just ADHD. I suspected it was something considerably worse than that when she told me about it. And the kid's brother probably has the same thing, she says, so wisely, she dropped out this semester to deal with the feelings and the appointments that will arise from this new diagnosis.
In my workshop, my wonderful student is struggling because her grown schizophrenic son has been hospitalized. Though things are going well, that sort of thing is hard on those in the family, who must alter their schedules to visit and deal with the barrage of feelings it raises in those who love the person in the hospital most.
Meanwhile, my teacher Denise is still recovering from her surgery, and last I spoke to her, was in quite a bit of serious pain.
I send them all love and good wishes, and a virtual hug.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Strange people in a strange land

Sometimes as a teacher I run into people who are strange and sad, and I cannot really do much to help them. Today I was working in the Writing Lab and met one of those people. This student looked normal enough. He was a student in a political science class, assigned to write about Obama's first weeks in office, but his English was so poor that I had a hard time making sense out of what he was trying to say. After a paragraph of struggling through these sentences, I finally told him he needed to take an ESL course before he could write papers like these.
He told me that if I took one along with him, he would enroll. At first, I thought it was just the sort of resistance that I had seen before, from students who found a stigma attached to being in such a class. But then he began to veer wildly off the track of the usual complaints. It seems, according to him, that someone has been breaking into his documents and changing them, slyly and subtly, that people like me at the Writing Center have a political agenda and we want to convince him that he is not adequate as a person. I of course insisted that it was not true that I meant to imply anything of the sort, but it was clear by this time that Iwas dealing with a mentally ill person, so I let it go. Sad; I wish I could have said something or done something to make a difference, but there wasn't much I could do.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Zombie Banks

I just heard an interesting story on NPR's finance show, Marketplace. Normally, money is boring or makes me anxious just thinking about it, but I enjoy that show sometimes, especially when they find intriguing ways to explain things. The story said that behemoths like Bank of America were neither dead nor alive; they were so burdened by bad debt and toxic assets that they could not contribute to the economy. The story was interspersed with clips from old zombie movies, and economists said that like the zombies, the banks probably needed to be shot or cremated rather than trying to revitalize them. Scary.

Monday, February 16, 2009

More rain today

I was going to go to the beach to visit a friend today after yoga, but the heavy, constant rain gave me pause. It generally floods down there in such weather, and the fog off the ocean makes it hard to drive as well. So I am staying home today, trying to read as much of I can of the novel I'm supposed to finish for bookclub--The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. It's a wonderful novel; however, I haven't had enough time to read it properly. This gives me some opportunity to do that.
Guess I'll go curl up and do what everyone ought to do on a rainy day--read.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Valentine's Day

I hope you all had a lovely Valentine's Day. After my morning yoga class with Bob, which he characterized as being "the Valentine's Day Massacre," but which was actually a bracing series of standing poses, I went to see "Noises Off" with Richard. I had a voucher for a ticket, but stupidly had not called to reserve a seat for this performance. Luckily, I believe in going early, and we were able to get him the last seat, a row back and to the right from me. There are really no bad seats in that theater, so it went well.
The play started off as a typical bedroom farce; the only trick was that it was presented as a play within a play, and the program gave us a phony cast description and advertisement for the play within a play, "Nothing On." After the first intermission (there were two), we thought the play was funny but a bit ordinary.
However, things went wonderfully haywire from that point. In the second act, we got the behind-the-scenes pootah with only an occasional peek through the windows and doors at the play we had already seen performed in the first act. The third act was back out front, but all pretense at presenting the play had gone out the window. The actors raced around, flinging platters of sardines and basically giving up on the play. We talked afterwards about the amazing timing they had to have to present an impression of that degree of bad timing. It was really terrific!
Then we walked down the street, thinking we were back east in February rather than in mild Orange County, CA. The wind sliced through us like a machete as we waited on cold corners for the lights to turn. But the Vietnamese restaurant we went to (can't recall the name--Saigon something... perhaps Grill?) was wonderful. I have been there before. It is usually empty at dinner time, and this was no exception, but as usual, the meal was fabulous. They have a free hand with herbs. The charbroiled fish sported a fresh green covering of dill, besides the platter of rau ram, Thai basil, mint, and cilantro, dipping sauce, and rice noodles. The seafood eggrolls, with their own platter of herbs, were wonderful, completely non-greasy and crisp. Wrapped in cool romaine leaves and dunked in the dipping sauce, they were my idea of culinary heaven. I should really find out their proper name and recommend them. Suffice it to say that they are on Sunflower and Bristol, across the street from South Coast Plaza.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Good news!

I heard at last from my yoga teacher, Denise. She is out of the hospital, but she had trouble there. Her lung collapsed, and she had to stay there longer than expected. It sounds like she has been in a good deal of pain, but typically, she has found a silver lining: the food in the hospital that they have been giving her (and the food prepared by her students) has been wonderful.
I will make her the mushroom strudel perhaps tomorrow or Monday and take it to her house.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Rainy Day Greens

It is raining out there, and will probably, from the sound of it, be continuing to rain for the next couple of weeks, so our field trip is off for the moment. I have not yet been able to find a botanist who is available to do the tour anyway. Perhaps a workable solution would be to go to Fullerton's Arboratum because they have docents ready to do that job. However, I will need to get a ride there with one of my students, and some of the other students will also need rides. Maybe we could take the train and then walk or take the bus, but it isn't terribly convenient and is kind of expensive too.
I have still not heard about my yoga teacher, and how she is doing. No one I know has. This worries me, but I will respect her privacy, although I have her phone number, address, and email address. When she wants information to get out, she will send word via her husband and others.
My parents, however, are doing well. They have started attending the Center again. This is a relief for me because I do not need to be their sole source of entertainment and solace. This is a bill I find myself unable to fill, in any case.
Jeremy has begun his life sans car, after losing the license for a year. He is adjusting surprisingly well, arranging for rides, borrowing bikes, using his roller blades, getting bus schedules. And he tells me that he loves the electives he is taking. In fact, he told me that this is the first time he has ever liked any form of school in his life. He himself has affirmed this.
The classes he likes so much are Human Development (which doesn't surprise me) and History of Film, which does. I am thrilled about film, looking forward to having a companion in watching DVDs of classic cinema and going to new films of quality. But perhaps that is asking too much.
I have not been to the movies in a long time. There hasn't been anything I particularly wanted to see.
I will try not to spoil the wonder of college for him by showing a special interest in what he is doing. In the past, he has responded to such interest by dropping the hobby or pursuit. So if I ignore it, perhaps this will make a difference (or pretend to ignore it). Let him tell me what he wants to tell me, and not tell me anything if he doesn't want to.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

In the Swing

I am really getting into teaching the workshop this semester. We have worn away the unfamiliarity between us, and are feeling comfortable, the few that are left, sharing our poems and our insights. I am beginning to see progress both in the students and in myself. I find this class really keeps me thinking about writing all the time, practicing it, honing it. I should always teach workshops. They are good for me.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Birthday of the Trees

Last night was another Torah meeting, but I was not prepared. Instead, I was sidetracked by the celebration of Tu B'Shvat, "the birthday of the trees." This is a minor Jewish holiday not mentioned in the Bible, the precursor to our Arbor Day. It is a holiday founded by the Kabbalists in the 16th century in the face of terrible trials the Jewish people faced. The celebration, a ritual dinner featuring vegetarian and dairy foods, mirrors that of Passover, a major holiday that comes later in the spring. As for Passover, one uses a special book of prayers in a particular order (that is what the word "seder" means, and this is the word we use for the ritual dinner), based on the ancient 4 elements of earth, water, air, and fire. These are meant to correspond to an ancient psychology and to particular kinds of fruits. So the earth corresponds to the almond, which represents the physical world, people (or aspects of their behavior) that are hard on the outside but soft inside; water corresponds to the date, which is soft outside, hard inside; air represents rationality, and this, ironically in my view given the sexual connotations of the fruit, corresponds to the fig; finally, fire represents the spiritual, and the most spiritual plant of all, for the mystics, was the tree.
In honor of the celebration, I prepared a special vegetarian dish that I had never made before--a mushroom strudel. It was absolutely beautiful, but I was way too rushed to take a picture of it.
I got the recipe from online, so I will find a picture to show you what the finished product looked like. Mine was exactly like the one in the picture!
Meanwhile, here is a beautiful piece from the seder to put you into the mood to celebrate the birthday of the trees:
"I said to the almond tree,
'Sister, speak to me of God.'
And the almond tree blossomed."
Nikos Kazanzakus

Monday, February 9, 2009

Tasks no one wants

As I write this, Jeremy is in the bathroom trying to get cat turd off his shoe. The cat pooped all over the house, apparently, while I was out at the hairdresser. One of them went in the bathtub; the other by the door. There are two litter boxes, large ones, but perhaps there was not quite enough litter in them to make the cats happy. My son was playing basketball in the house (long story) and stepped in the poop by the door, tracking it around a bit. He thoughtfully called me up and told me not to step in it as I came in.
The rug and tub weren't that difficult; the shoe was hard. I left that job for him. I wish someone would invent a tool specifically for that purpose.

Sunday, February 8, 2009


I am never short of worries, and in this I suppose I am like most everyone else. Right now, I am worried about my yoga teacher, Denise. She goes in for surgery tomorrow to have the breast implant in one of her breasts taken out and replaced. Generally, when implants go wrong, they simply deflate. Hers seemed to get bigger. That didn't make sense, so the surgeon wants to go in and take it out and examine the situation. But today she told me that the surgeon had found a large tumor underneath it. He told her there was no return of the cancer she had before, and she hopes that he has taken a biopsy of this tumor and found it benign. In any case, what was a rather humorous and bizarre situation has now turned rather sinister and dark. Denise is one of the best, most creative and exuberant teachers I know. I hope for her full recovery.
However, I am not going to be able to be very useful to her or to anyone else because I am so overloaded right now. I am not sure why, but the burden of caring for my parents seems much harder to bear for me right now. I am chafing under it, and want to escape sometimes. I think I need a rest.

Friday, February 6, 2009

Object poem

Here's that poem I wrote for the class:
Cuticle Scissors
"The artist, like the God of the creation,
remains within or behind or beyond
or above his handiwork, invisible, refined
out of existence, indifferent, paring his
fingernails." James Joyce

Dainty and sharp
as a moth's curled proboscis
delivng the blossoms' blunt
bells, a bee-eater's versatile beak
the curved blade snaps.

Ten pale arcs like the
midday moon--the tips
of my overgrown nails
fly upward like sparks.

Buffalo Gal

There is a buffalo pot roast working in the crock pot. It is my first, and actually the first time in a long time I'll be eating a big hunk of meat in a long long time. I stopped eating beef long ago because of an accumulation of cholesterol in my eyeballs of all places, so I am interested in seeing whether this is digestable for me. Apparently, bison contains much less cholesterol than any other meat, including chicken. So I am trying it out. I made spaghetti sauce out of ground bison, and it was good, despite the flu bug my son had that meant I had to revisit the dinner many times after I served it. I might not want to make it for a while.

Last night was the latest workshop. Though only the active portion of the class, the ones who have been talking and turning in stuff, for the most part, showed up after my email asking the others to turn in work, it was a lovely class. The students presented an object they chose, either in the flesh or in photograph, and told why they picked it. Then I had them write poems in which the object became both itself and more than itself--a symbol, in other words, but without simple connection to one particular thing alone but rather multivalence. We had read before this poems like Frost's "Design," Wilbur's "The Writer," and Gerald Stern's "I remember Galileo." In these poems, metaphors morph, taking on the freight of meaning as they go. In fact, Stern's subject in his poem is this very process. I think it was a good and enlightening class, and we all left feeling we understood each other and liked each other, or at least that's how I felt.

We will go to the UCI arboratum on a fieldtrip perhaps next weekend. I hope to ask a botanist friend to come along, even if I have to pay her to do it.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

A Long Trip

Lately, my mom thinks she needs to prepare for a long trip. I had her out this afternoon, after I returned from taking my dad to the doctor. I wanted her to check out the Draper and Damon's outlet next door to the Kosher Bite Deli, a few miles from where she lives. She has gained some weight, and it was an opportunity to buy pants in a larger size on sale, but the store is not open every day, so today seemed opportune.
We found a number of pairs of pants, some for each of us, and a shirt each also. But when I told mom it was time to go home, she said she didn't think she would be going home today. Wouldn't she need to stay over on the way, for such a long journey? And did I really contemplate driving there all by myself? She was very concerned about my safety. I wonder what home meant to her. Perhaps it was South Africa, or maybe Philadelphia. It's difficult to say.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Family Visit

My uncle just left after his 5 day visit to my house. I live in a tiny cramped apartment. There is enough clutter just generated by the 3 of us for any 10 people, particularly by me! But with my uncle here, sleeping on the futon in the living room, it was really stuffed. There was nowhere to sit down and relax except on the beds.
He isn't a difficult guest, cleaning up after himself and very quietly going about his business. That helped. He also spent a lot of time with my parents, helping dad water the garden and sitting by him as he rested. I think it was therapeutic for him as well as for my father because he has been so devastated by the death of his young wife, who was quite a bit younger than he is, from an undiagnosed mental illness that dragged on and on for years. Since her mother died under similar circumstances, it is probably to do with genetic problems brought on by the inbreeding of two families of Iraqui Jews from which his wife descended for generation after generation. They are brilliant but fragile individuals.
So I know that spending time here in the hustle and bustle of my household was a nice change for my uncle. He is trying to persuade Jeremy to visit him in Maryland, and I think that would be a nice idea. Jeremy has never had a trip on his own before, and it would be a good opportunity to see Wash. D.C. .
After a difficult weekend, during which we almost took my dad to the ER again because of blood in his urine(lots of it), he has bounced back again for a while. It seems that every time he over exerts himself, he plummets back down again. It's tough because once he feels better, he naturally wants to do something and get out of the house.