Tuesday, January 14, 2014


I am at work and I am wearing a mask. My residents, their brains riddled with dementia stare quietly at me. They are trying to decide whether they know me.  Hearing my voice may signal recognition and safety. After all I have spoken to them for hundreds of hours.
 But where is the rest of my face? Does the white surgical mask represent authority and knowledge? They seem amused.
We have Influenza A in the building, a strain not represented in the vaccine administered two months ago. Ten confirmed cases on my floor, several hospitalizations. My son is arriving from Japan tomorrow. I'm not taking any chances. This mask is itchy and hot.

There is a meatless shepherd's pie in my fridge that required four hours of chopping stuff. Healthy meals seem to involve a lot of chopping.  My son is vegan but we always say things could be worse. He could be Republican or an insurance agent or in prison but vegan is not easy. He eats nothing with a face, nothing with parents, you know the drill.  The inside of my fridge looks like a Farmers' Market. And then there's the tofu, hummus and almond paste. Big Dave can't find any room for his Kentucky Fried Chicken leftovers and I say BACK OFF!  You cannot taint the purity of my refrigerator with your grease.

We have just picked the boy up in Rockford. He has been traveling almost 24 hours, planes, trains and automobiles and a couple of buses. I believe Steve Martin and John Candy were sitting in the seats behind him.
He will give me a hard time while he is here. If I use a paper plate he will yell, "quit killing the trees!" and don't get me started on his reaction when I put Ethanol in my car. But I will feel healthy and light as I eat his vegan diet.  I will have a week of no demon animal fat weighing me down. And I will produce some monumental and majestic farts.

1 comment:

Arizaphale said...

4 hours of chopping? Get a ThermoMix.