A Good Day

When I got to my parents' house this afternoon after yoga, the caregiver told me that my dad had asked impatiently where I was. I guess his memory is worsening because I talked to him about 7:30 this morning and told him I'd be there about 12:15-12:30, after yoga, and would take him to the 99 Market for fish.
Regardless of his impatience and poor memory, he was feeling very good today. His voice was strong, and he had a big smile for everyone, anxious to get out into the beautiful weather.
Though he had a bit of difficulty walking across the shopping center where 99 is, since there was no spot closer, handicapped or otherwise, once he got in there, he had a wonderful time. His eyes opened wider and wider, like a 6 year old's, responding to the bustle of the busy market, the sensory stimulation of the various smells, sounds, colors, and unusual items. From the tangle of huge catfish congregating in one corner of a tank to the gigantic unidentifiable vegetables and roots in the produce department, he was delighted. We didn't buy that much--a steamer for me, the fish, some fruit and vegetables, but it was really fun for him. I don't know how mom felt about it.
On the way home, we stopped at the Kosher Bite deli and I got the fixings for deli sandwiches and knishes, which we would eat when Richard came over to watch the Super Bowl with my dad. I stayed and ate and ate, but I hate football, so I left Richard there. Since he came in his own car, it didn't matter. He'll be home later, back to our house, which feels so empty because Jeremy moved out today.

Here We Go Again!

I just showed Frankenstein. Though many of my students said they were going to come and wanted the extra credit I promised, only one student and her friend showed up. They really enjoyed the film and asked me questions about the book and its resemblance (or lack thereof) to the film. Since I have taught the book Frankenstein (the first version) a number of times, I was able to say something about that. And the girls said they wanted to come back for future films. But I despair of attracting anyone else or getting the rest of the students in the class to show up.
I joined Netflix so I could be sure to have the films, and it seems that has been for nothing. I will try hanging up signs in a few places, and perhaps we'll attract some more people for next week's film, Prizzi's Honor.

Request

Yesterday I got an interesting email from a French PhD student who wanted a copy of my dissertation, on the function of play in literature, specifically, in Nabokov's work. This is not an extremely hot topic, though I think it is an interesting one, obviously. I never turned the dissertation into a book, though I probably should have. I was so shellshocked by the entire process that I never wanted to look at the damn thing again, and the final chapter was so hopelessly inadequate, I'd have to start over.
The student wanted a copy of the dissertation and didn't know how to get it. He had written to a person in the Nabokov Society, who referred him to me. I didn't know what to tell him except that I used to get hold of such things via abstracting services. I referred him to his librarian, who would know about such things, and also Googled the subject. Of course, contacting the UCI library would not be a bad idea. They probably sell people copies of the dissertations in their collection.
If you have any ideas, let me know.
I also want to remind you, if you are nearby, to come to tonight's movie--James Whale's 1931 film, Frankenstein, the "first" film in my adaptation series. I put quotation marks around this because two weeks ago, I showed the actual first film, Kubrick's The Shining, and no one showed.
The film will be shown at Irvine Valley College, room P-0 (a trailer near parking lot 8A), at 7 PM. See you there!

Revolving Door

I checked dad out of the hospital today. I worked until 1:10 or so, picked up my mom at 2, went with her to visit dad, and the doctor said that I might as well take him home. They still hadn't figured out what was causing the kidney problems and his inability to pee or the retained fluid. But there was nothing more to do for him there, so they sent him home, until he can see his nephrologist at UCI, with two new prescriptions--yet another antibiotic because the infection, stubborn little bug, is still there, and a diuretic to keep down the fluids and stave off dialysis for a while. He was his old self, demanding things, such as fresh underwear, his voice much stronger than before. They peeled away the oxygen tube, and he was fine.
It took 5 hours from start to finish to get him out of the hospital and me home. I hadn't eaten anything since 6 AM. Oddly, I felt buoyant and not hungry for a while. But then it hit me, when I got him to his house and was stumbling up the driveway.
Dealing with my mom was really shocking this afternoon. She has deteriorated markedly since my dad went into the hospital, seeing and hearing people everywhere who are not there, making absolutely NO sense whatsoever. She forgot how to sit down in the car and how to walk in the parking lot. At the sight of lines by the handicapped spot, she thought they were steps, and nearly fell trying to negotiate the non-existent stairs. The caregiver will sleep next to them tonight, trying to keep my mom from disturbing my father's sleep.

Reading at UCI

In the midst of so much uncertainty, poetry has a role to play. I decided to go to a reading that I learned about in Reb's blog, The Mark on the Wall. It was by two poets, Victoria Chang and Ted Genoways. Genoways, who read second, was a very kind person who brought his 7 year old son and wife to the reading. He is the editor of Virginia Quarterly Review, and writes interesting sequences of formed poems. His voice was quiet, so much so that I had trouble hearing him. But of course, with my hearing, I have trouble hearing lots of things, and I sat on the other side of the room, unfortunately, hanging with the old folks, while the undergraduates taking notes congregated closest to the reader. From what I heard, I was impressed by how he introduced the rhymes so naturally into his lines and intrigued by his narratives about his grandmother's life in long ago Nebraska of the early 20th century and late 19th.
Chang is one of those poets who isn't an exhibitionist, as I am. She is very introverted and strange. I get the impression she does not read often or willingly. Though she lives in Irvine, she has never been on the UCI campus before, and attended Warren Wilson College's MFA program, where she would not have been required to subsist in the hothouse milieu of a program like UCI's, where the writers quite often engage in long-term partner-swapping and power struggles. She kept making very self-conscious and odd comments about colleges and college students, and said several times that UCI was "very clean." However, her poetry was striking and revealed an acute eye and penetrating sensibility.
I didn't stay around after the reading, somehow feeling very old. It suddenly struck me for the first time how much younger even the grad students are than I am right now. It was a long time ago when I was a student there. However, I am glad to have heard two new voices.

Another Day, Another Hospital

As I suspected, my dad's condition could not be sustained for long without another trip to the hospital. My effort to get an appointment (outpatient) with a cardiologist, arranged by his doctor, didn't have satisfactory results; the first appointment we could get was for next Weds. I knew that wouldn't be good enough.
So when the caregiver called me this afternoon at 2, and said he was having trouble breathing, I knew this would probably call for another stay in the hospital.
When I got there, he was again white and immovable. I knew he wouldn't be able to walk, so I told the caregiver to call the ambulance, and on their advice, we went to the closest hospital, one where we had not been before. It turned out to be very nice, quite civilized, and much more comfortable than UCI, at least in the emergency room.
While in UCI, the tvs and remotes are scratched up and destroyed, unworkable, these worked perfectly. Parking was simple, and there were even people guiding drivers into spots that were safe and legal. And best, it was quite close to home.
While we were in the e.r., and the nurse and I were trying to get his pants off, he almost stopped breathing. It seems the problems he had in UCI when he was there two weeks ago were all back in force: the kidney failure, the elevated potassium, the retained fluid, and even the bladder infection. The doctors still face the same problem: treat one organ and risk shutting down the other. It is probable that this will kill him. I just hope it isn't a long, lingering, and painful death. If he can get a few more months or a year without too much discomfort, that would be nice. We'll have to take what we get. I guess we all do.

Monday, Another Week

Today's class was, again, sparcely populated. This class has not waited to dwindle. It has begun almost right away. I have been off to a slow start this semester, trying, as usual, to pack everything the students will need into the classes before the draft is due. So I have taught classes on argument, definition, analysis (using passages from the story to illustrate and assignments on this to prepare them to write the paper), summary, and secondary materials, a task I will continue through next Monday.
Only next Weds. will the thesis and plan be due.
Next time I teach this class, I will be quicker to the punch and have a draft due before census. The papers will likely be worse than these will, but one must be practical, even in such a long semester. I expect the students will show up again when the draft is due, and won't have clue how to write it. But they'll find that out only belatedly. Might as well have had the draft come in earlier since that is the case.