Welcome to cawfee tawlk. I'm your host, Linda Richman. Er, Crow. Tawlk amongst yaselves; I'll give you a tawpic: Weekends. Discuss.Ah, the weekend. Allow me to Back it up, Barkus.
Meandering Moment: Pre-retirement, my dad was a trucker. He drove an 18-wheeler, which meant loading and unloading at docks was a huge part of his life. One of his closest co-workers was a guy named Don Barkus, whom I believe is now passed on.
When my dad would talk in his sleep, even years after retirement, one of his most common exclamations, and I do mean exclamations in the sense of !!!!, was a phrase oft-heard at the docks:
"Back it up, Barkus!"
which completely cracks me up and causes me to look for opportunities to say it.
Thus, "Back it up, Barkus," has become synonymous with
A) Physically step back, Dude
B) Rewind mentally/verbally.
Where was I? Oh, backing up the weekend, Barkus.
I fell down Thursday night. It was bedtime, and I was walking through my fam room to the one step up which leads to a short hall which leads to the bedroom, when the step reached up and wrenched my ankle, which caused me to do what this model does in the video, although I wasn't carrying a watering can. And by the way, I feel sorry for model Kamilia Wawrzyni, one, because of the way I'm sure people butcher her name and B) There is actually water in that can (Why?) and III) That had to hurt.
So all weekend I have been dealing with "water can ankle."
But I didn't let it stop me from running, and Friday I ran 5.5 miles + walked a mile home. When I collapsed in the grass of my neighbor in Halteman Village, it may actually have been one of the proudest moments of my long life.
Jorge's flights from Ft. Lauderdale and Atlanta were both delayed, so I had one more evening by myself which I spent with Barbara Stanwyck.
On Saturday, I went to the beautiful wedding of the daughter of my friend, Diane, whom I've written about before who is battling cancer:
Saturday evening, my father went into the hospital with chest pains, and I stayed there until 1:00 AM when they admitted him. I went to bed at 2 AM, rose at 7 AM, went to church, then took my mom back out to the hospital and sat with them most of the afternoon. (I knew via staff he wasn't in apparent danger or even in severe discomfort. The chest pains come and go.)
Dad is 87 and is in remarkable health for his age. So far, all of the test results are good, don't think he had a heart attack. Monday morning at 8:00, cardiolyte Dip and Echocardiogram. Say a little prayer. He's such a sweet man and so incredibly hard of hearing.
Final note on the weekend--Pet peeve list addition: Docs with foreign accents who will NOT speak up nor slow down when speaking to obviously deaf elderly people. What is up with this?? Where is the bedside manner? I kept telling the hospitalists how hard of hearing Dad is, and they would repeat the question with the same speed and volume. It was incredibly rude and ridiculous.
Dad would stare blankly at the doc, then turn his head to Mom for help who is also hard of hearing and not accustomed to foreign accents, who would either answer incorrectly or look to me, then I would speak VERY LOUDLY to demonstrate what you have to do for him to hear you, and then the doc would say, "OK," and then ask the next question in the frustrating manner. We did this absurd scene over and over. I was a loose cannon by 1:00 AM.
I was ready to shout, "Back it up, Barkus, and turn it up, too!"
OK. Now it's your turn to discuss: Weekend.
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