What Time Is It?

My room in Manhattan is quite spacious, as New York hotel rooms go. I'm not one of those people who complains about hotel rooms. I need a clean bathroom, a semi-comfortable bed, a desk and a chair. I'm set.

As all semi-insomniacs know, we have a perverse need to know the time. If I wake at 2:00 AM, I will try to lull myself back to sleep. If I wake at 5:00 AM, the time it will take to get back to sleep isn't worth the effort. I'll just get up.

The clock in my room is very new age and probably expensive. You can play/charge/awake to your iPod. (I didn't bring mine.) But, it's bolted to the nightstand and faces the middle of the room rather than the bed. To see the time, I have to sit up, move over and practically get out of bed.

It never occurred to me to pack Hangdog's "ding" watch -- the one that loudly announces the time. Since we inherited it, I may make it a permanent part of my packing list.

Fix It

The oldies believed I could fix almost anything. If I couldn't do it personally, I knew the person to call. (This is a nice counterbalance to the people in my life who think I cannot fix a thing.)

Last night, the rock & roll person that shares my last name had a band gig. I did not attend -- mainly because I couldn't stop sneezing. I planned a hot bath, some play time with the dog and watching a goofy movie in bed.

Never make plans.

Hangdog had a headache. I know this because he called me repeatedly and begged me to fix it. I don't doubt that he was hurting but I do doubt it was "The Worst Headache Ever!" I spoke with the nurse and reviewed the medication he had been given. I spoke with the nurse later, after she had spoken with two doctors. I called to check on him. Then, I looked up and it was almost midnight.

I didn't fix a thing. I gave him a little peace of mind and hopefully, some comfort.

His headache is the least of his health issues. Mainly, it's a broken heart and I can't fix it.

What are you doing?

I like it when people explain tbings to me like I'm a toddler. It's simplified and I don't feel guilty asking questions.

The oldies are well-educated people but life has thrown a few curves. The mother-in-law is in the hospital (she's fine, just recovering.) The husband has that pesky job of RUNNING A COMPANY. Meanwhile, he's dealing with doctors, VA people, visiting his mother, questioning legal things, investigating options and of course, ordering me around.

I am of the house. That means that I try very hard to meet the needs of the household. I fail every day but I keep plugging away,

There is always food around here but I have never cooked three meals a day. Before the oldies came to live with us, I was doing good if I cooked three meals a week. I was spawned from farm women (not my mother) but I have no interest in this. No thank you very much.

This morning I tried to have a serious conversation with Hangdog. Not about his wife or anything medical ... I simply said, "I need a few hours alone to get some things done." He nodded and I built a fire for him to sit by and enjoy. He had been fed and watered. I called the hospital so he could talk to his wife. All daily medications have been dispersed. Wooooo --hoooo! A moment for me!

Thirty minutes later he came in my office and asked, "What are you doing?"

Quiet Time

This is great marital advice. Institute "Quiet Time."

When the babies are fussy or trying to avoid a nap, what parent hasn't said, "Shhh! It's quiet time?" Why is this limited to children?

The husband and I do this with each other. If he brings up a subject that I don't wish to discuss, I pretend to be half-asleep and announce that it's Quiet Time. If he's dozing and I'm chatty, it's his turn to declare Quiet Tme.

I've been accused of beating a subject to death. The husband loves the option of Quiet Time.