When Mom Pees Blue

We had the long awaited healthcare crisis a few days ago, when my mother was taken to the hospital for dehydration and diarrhea. I was actually relieved, since I thought she would finally trigger an all-out community alert for quick transfer to the nearest skilled nursing facility. No such luck; they pumped her up with fluid and sent her home. She complained endlessly about everyone’s stupidity, then called me in a panic as she noticed her urine was blue. I alerted her nurse case manager. I Googled side effects of antibiotics. I wondered if my father was poisoning her. Well, guess what. They now have a weekly house cleaner – who scrubbed the toilet with blue liquid cleanser. And then didn’t flush it.

Medical mystery solved, leading to the next problem – Mom lost a molar crown when she finally started eating again after a week of milkshakes. She carefully put the remnants in a cup on the kitchen table, and then it disappeared under the mounds of crumbling coupons, never to be seen again. It’s unlikely that the dentist would have wanted to re-glue the pieces, but that doesn’t matter. Why waste a perfectly good piece of porcelain? Now Mom and Dad match – he lost a crown 6 months ago and refuses to get it fixed – why bother spending money on dental care when he doesn’t like to smile.

I’m dealing with my own dental issues, and I just checked my urine, and this is making me even more paranoid about aging.

Can You Hear Me Now?

I just completed a short visit to my parents, looped onto a business trip.  As soon as I arrived I had to wire and install speakers in their bedroom. They've been waiting months for me to do it. The speakers looked vaguely familiar. I realized that I bought them in 1972, when in high school. I listened to Iron Butterfly and Supertramp on those walnut veneer speakers. They've been dropped a few dozen times over the decades, are chipped and dusty, yet apparently still work. Do you think your Kindle will function 40 years from now?

It gets better. My Dad agreed to have me sell his 212 record albums, which he thought he fairly valued at $1 each. Well that’s not quite how it works . . . I’ve been researching this for a while and I finally found a place that gave me $21 for the pile, hmm, about 10 cents per album. Despite bringing them to the gayest neighborhood in San Diego, all those show tune soundtracks from the 1960’s were not so desirable. Note that Dad carefully blacked out all the “promotional – not for sale” labels on the albums that he got for free back when my brother was a deejay. He didn’t want to get in trouble with the music police.

I was tempted to find a slide rule to calculate my commission - however Dad graciously let me keep the proceeds. I realized flying home tonight that my own music system is more than 20 years old and I’m still using my speakers as furniture (thanks Bob, for that nostalgic trigger).  So I’m going to buy a new setup tomorrow. Not succumbing to genetics this time, no way!