Lion and Lamb Therapy Stat!

Thanks for all the supportive comments. I managed barely an hour's nap yesterday - the phone kept ringing - so I was out cold by 8:30 p.m., thanks to Benadryl and Michelob Ultra. I woke at midnight to find that Dudley wasn't in bed with me - I investigated and found him locked in his crate. Apparently while Girl was in the shower last night Boris gave Dudley a blue pen, and Dudley investigated the construction of same. (Boris is notorious for getting on the coffee table and giving items to the dog to get him in trouble, we've seen him do it.) Girl was able to clean the carpet, thank God, but the pads of Dudley's front paws are a lovely robin's egg blue this morning. Terriers are just like having toddlers.

My house is a wreck and I have to schlep back and forth across the state again today, but this weekend MUST be devoted to getting things in order around here. There isn't a surface of my house that isn't cluttered and cat-hairy. And I still haven't taken the new SLR out of the box!

I'll probably get the Clapotis finished this weekend. I had 8 hours of solid knitting time in the ICU Wednesday night - that's how I got through it, I just knitted and practiced breathing exercises. And knitted and knitted. I know my blood pressure would have been through the roof without the soothing yarn and needles. I don't know how people sit through stressful events like that empty-handed. I made enormous progress, I think I have 4 or 5 more dropped stitches to go before starting the decrease section. I love it to pieces, it's just gorgeous.

I know today is going to be rough, but nothing on earth could be as rough as Wednesday, so it will be okay. My mother sounded much better last night. Call her Cleopatra, she was the only person around (with the possible exception of my father himself) who actually believed that he was going to live for years despite the steady pattern of deterioration that left him on a feeding tube and oxygen. The last time I saw him I knew in my heart he had weeks, maybe a few months at best, and those would be spent bedridden and half out of it. But my mother thought he was going to rally and somehow recover - oy. She spent some time yesterday gathering all the medical equipment and medications and de-hospitalizing the house, and was somewhat stunned to step back and see how much equipment they had accumulated to keep him alive. I know from firsthand experience that while it's sad when the patient loses the battle, there is something life-affirming and satisfying about getting rid of all of that crap and making the house look like a home again, instead of a field hospital. I was very quick to dispose of all that stuff after my husband died, I didn't want to have any lingering memories of that stage of his life. The ones burned into my brain are bad enough. Cleaning up and putting the house back in order is good therapy.

Her 93 year old aunt (who still lives on her own in her own house, and only recently accepted help from a "girl" to do the heavy housework) called to talk to her, I know that will be enormously helpful. I've told her that she has to take time and think about what she wants to do next, and where she wants to live - "with me" is not an option, but if she wants to move closer I'd certainly help make it happen. My cousin C has offered to have her come stay with her, she's in an area with a lot of retirees and services and that's another possibility if she wants to move to get closer to family. But there's time to make those decisions - she's in a safe area that is very familiar to her, I'm not about to propose uprooting her.

Oh, and my Audible account has been a godsend, almost as much as the knitting. Funny books on CD make the drive fly. Today's book is The Sweet Potato Queens' Guide to Love.

Clapotis pictures this weekend if we're not hit by that tropical depression.