Ten-Finger Exercises

Whew, it's Friday!

The kids are in the bedroom going absolutely crazy, playing, supposedly winding down but I'm not at all sure. Thank goodness it has not happened nightly. I'd forgotten how uptight I get with all those loud shreiks, stuffed animals thrown through the air and simultaneous blaming.

We had a short swim, but the water was down to 82, about the same as the air, and Sophie got chilled. So we rushed into a warm bath, but that hasn't mellowed them out a bit.

How did I ever do that? Have that energy, and that patience? Probably didn't, and that's the truth. But I was thirty years younger, and that was worth something.

***

Met a new patient today who is very demented. They say he has reverted to his first language, French. So I wrote down some things I wanted to say to him, googled a translation, and called a French friend to practice it on her. She helped me put it in more common words, ones I knew, so that helped.

It was good to talk to her. She has recently left the Episcopal church USA even though she is a deacon. She believes that we're headed the wrong direction and are no longer following Christ. It's been very hard on the church to lose her. She was very involved there, and very well valued and loved.

I asked her to send me a copy of the letter she sent when she resigned. The priest had only reported his interpretation of it, for which I don't blame him. Still, I'd like to read her own words.

The man I talked to said he could understand my French. That was a relief. But I had trouble understanding much of what he said, although it sounded like English. He didn't make eye contact, and his Parkinsons voice is small and not animated. His daughter told me I'd be lucky if he even opened his eyes, so I counted it a victory. I'll look forward to seeing him again. I haven't had much practice with my French in the past thirty years either.

***
One grandchild tale: after the musical performance last night the kids took the backpacks they'd filled and decorated for a school in Afghanistan up to the altar. Jack took a very circuitous route back to his seat, through the choir and past the deacon's bench. Sophie came straight back and whispered in my ear, "You used to own this place, didn't you?"