Weather

This is especially to my South African friends and relatives. After complaining for years about the cold in SA, the lack of central heating, indeed of any heating...I beg forgiveness. Mea culpa, Mea culpa, Mea culpa.
(Roughly from church latin, "I'm an idiot, I'm and idiot, I'm an idiot.")
It has been so cold here that we wear outdoor clothes indoors. Well some of us do. John bundles in an undershirt, shirt, polar tec jacket, fleece lined jacket and he wears fingerless gloves. I, the most notorious of the cold tolerant wear an undershirt and a sweater. Worse, I wear shoes and socks.
The house is replete with windows and doors, all of which date from the later 1900's. The temperature is well below zero farinheit most nights. It has snowed rather a lot.
In conclusion I think we'd better replace the furnace and buy heavily lined curtains.

The News

I made a mistake. I turned on the news. Apparently it has just dawned on the press and on the gov't that all is not well in Egypt.
Why are we paying the people in gov't?
Nine years ago a young Egyptian girl came to school with Marguerite. Her mom is a doctor, her father is a banker. Both have advanced degrees from good universities. The family is Coptic Christian. Supsequent conversations revealed that the Copts were moving out because of persecution from the Muslim Brotherhood. The educated and rich were fleeing.
A small amount of research produced the stats about money distributation in Egypt. I noted the amazing use of cell phones even among the quite poor. This use was growing. I remembered that the Palestinians can't flee to Egypt. Egyptians don't want exta population. They really don't want politicized Palestrinians.
How hard is it to figure that what with a very young poplulation, the increasing awareness fueled by technology and with poverty that hard times were coming?

On the prospect of formal dress charity balls Part two

Then there are the clothes. I find beige, navy,grey and white all with a wiff of pastels boring. Given my head, I go straight to the orange, yellow, violet, red part of the department store. If it glitters so much the better.
Inevitably I am shooed back to the matron area. It's been that way since I was twelve and develped boobs.
Contrary to all the publicity, boobs are NOT fashionable-never have been. NO designer designes for the top heavy. (except Bob Mackie, you don't want to know)
Now I'm just heavy and no one trusts me to pick out appropriate attire. Female friends are prone to locking me in the changing room, taking my clothes away and start flinging "appropriate" frocks at me.
I wear black and dark colors to all the balls. I actually try to match my dress with the wall color. I follow the dictum of Emily Post who said fat women should wear subdued tones and distract attention from themselve.
She really had something there.

On the prospect of formal dress charity balls

The door closes on scented air. Out on the patio no ceilings press down. From the streets below the smells of car exhaust, and various mechanical revolutions mix with wisps of the coal fired plants down river.I am free. Back by the wall three servers sit smoking. I join them.
"Why aren't you with the others?" asks the black lady.
"Too rich and I don't understand what they say."
We're all silent.
"Do you all get tips?" I ask.
"Honey, it's all by the hour."
"Well, it's work," I say.
"Yup. You can say that." She finishes her cigarette and tosses it into a waste can.

I'm taking the day off

MybrotherJohn is in the hospital.
We're paying, with his money, 221 dollars a day to "keep his bed."
Went out in big snowstorm to give them cash in hand as demanded.
Anton still home with the flu.
Mickey still has trouble and waters the puppy pads. He can't help it if no one's here to let him out immediately.
Winnie has a bump on her side.
John is looking grim about work.
I've been getting 20 to 25 calls a day.
We have six inches of snow on the ground, the temp is 5 celsious.
I'm taking the day off.

Mission Accomplished?

I found mybrotherJohn a nursing home. I saw him put there. It looks really, really good and he seems happy.
The rehab hospital ombudsman was still calling to tell me how my "clear and persistent input" has "helped us form a new policy." Translation, "your frequent calls and willingness to disturb my superiors has made me work out a new set of papers to paper over the incompetence, you bitch!"
I love life.
Now we must set about proving Johnmybrother is really a person and really indigent. We have been gathering evidence for some days. Copies of all his financial doings for six months, listing of his assets (none) and most importantly his social security number-THE CARD.
60 years ago John was given a small paper card-not even printed on stock paper and told to keep it so he could someday collect social security. The government has repeatedly announced that the number on the card IS NOT TO BE USED AS IDENTIFICATION.
Hogwash, hogwash, hogwash.
If I had thought of it sooner I would have had the number tatooed on my belly, not to mention tatooing the kids' numbers on their sweet baby bellies before the age on complaint. In this country you can do absolutely nothing without the number and authorities can demand the card itself.
My poor card wore out after sixty years and disappeared into little tiny shreds in the wash of daily life.
I would dearly love a little honesty. In South Africa you used to have the "book of life." In France you must have a "carte d'identite"(Can't spell or write in french unless I'm tipsy, had to sneak beer before all college exams). I'd love my fellow citizens to just admit the identity number and fix it somewhere permanently.
In this technically advanced society I envision a chip. Dogs are chipped all the time so that if they're lost a vet can read their number and return them to their owner.
I thought about sticking the chip in babies ears, but I realize someone can lose an ear and go merrily on his way.
So the only true solution is to insert an identity chip into the heart of every newborn as it's birthed within our borders. People seldom live without hearts.Well, except corporations, politicians and bankers and we can figure out something else out for them. I'm thinking lashes and lashes of money here, but maybe there are other recourses.

A Hearfelt AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGG.

OK. Got all in one room, doctors, therapists, social worker, ombudsman, mother, other brother and me.
Got information.
THEN
MONEY.
Nursing home is the best I can get. Will take him. Cost, 140 dollars a day. Magically this will come from Medicade....but in the meantime....
Other brother not fazed. Me, kept face still. More meetings with nursing home social worker on Monday.
Ombudsman made a big deal about me being satisfied NOW.
I smiled.
I AM NOT SATISFIED. Some time out from this the hospital will be made aware of my lack of satisfication.
I fear I am a bit of a bitch/

Finally

I have found a placement for my brother-on my own of course. With any luck we'll have him fairly close.
The nursing home director has a report on his physical progress and tells me it is unlikely he'll be able to return to his apartment and live independently. Drake hospital has given me no such report, but I stirred enough to get a response and to prod them into a "family meeting" where we'll meet his doctor, therapist, social worker and ombudsman for the first time. Nice as they will discharge him on Tuesday.
I am told I will get a detailed letter from the CEO of Drake explaining all the reasons for their (non) care of  him.
It's all about money of course, I do understand this, but if I pay for services offered, I expect those services to exist.
It's odd, but I think John will rather like a nursing home. It may be a relief to him. He's personable and gets on well with people outside of his family. The man can be charming. He can bar any of us from visiting him and we'll respect his wishes. My nasty other brother will help with the papers .
I'm nervous of the meeting with the "care team" but for the first time I feel almost relaxed.

Beaten to a large red pulp!

Ma suffered bad humour tonight. She announced to a guest that I was hopeless, hopeless, hopeless. She said John was too...hopeless I mean.
It's sad for her. Losing vision and hearing is very isolating. It doesn't help her to berate the help. I'm sorry she's so angry and I'm angry she's taking it out on me. Truth to be told: it is the nature of our "relationship."
It's far too late to correct her and to demand civility.
She was just on the phone to tell me she'll pick up shoes for John and go with me to the hospital on Tuesday.
I hope to get an appointment with the social worker then, as everyone has been on holiday.
Truth to tell I indulge her in many ways... but there it is...she did pick me out at the baby parade.
Still it's a sad trial sometimes.

Reality

My beloved husband is the real force behind this blog. Still, it makes me happy to write about whatever comes to mind. He is clever and I appreciate that he put up the pictures and the cover of our book. It's actually a pretty good book, it's funny.