About two weeks ago I noticed a half-filled bottle of shampoo in the shower at the pool about a quarter to 11 PM. I was the last one at the pool. My finely honed sleuthing skills reasoned that the shampoo probably belonged to the guy who left as I arrived. Because the swim staff seems to throw stuff out stuff like shampoo rather than put it in the lost and found, I thought I'd take the shampoo and bring it back to the pool and give the shampoo to the guy the next time we met.
When I got home I remembered that the guy I intended to give the shampoo to makes a point of NOT showering at the pool. Duh. Another example of collateral damage from my sleep deficit.
I finally saw the guy tonight and explained the situation. Did he want the shampoo? Nah, you keep it. Sigh. My intentions were noble. Maybe I'll get off with a judicial reprimand.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
I Cut My Father's Nails
My parents have long maintained that getting old is not for sissies. My father has stated several times that he's no longer getting old, he's there. He's old.
As they've gotten older my parents have made their accommodations to their diminishing strength through planning. They minimizing the number of times they use the stairs, wait for me to come over rather than chance climbing up a latter to change a bulb, etc.
After triple coronary bypass surgery my father suffered some problems which led to a loss of feeling in his right hand. One of the results was that just yesterday he asked me to cut his nails. The nails on his right hand were nicely trimmed, but because he couldn't trust his right hand to do the job the nails on his left hand were long.
My father had must have thought about it for a while before coming to the conclusion that he had to ask for assistance. It was an awkward experience on my part. I didn't think I'd nip his finger, but I couldn't feel where the clippers were. I had a new respect for manicurists and nail technicians. It might have appeared comical. I'd position the clipper, then move my head around to see if the clipper was going to nip his skin before actually clipping his nails.
I wonder why he doesn't use a nail file, but then maybe it's also a problem with gripping.
As they've gotten older my parents have made their accommodations to their diminishing strength through planning. They minimizing the number of times they use the stairs, wait for me to come over rather than chance climbing up a latter to change a bulb, etc.
After triple coronary bypass surgery my father suffered some problems which led to a loss of feeling in his right hand. One of the results was that just yesterday he asked me to cut his nails. The nails on his right hand were nicely trimmed, but because he couldn't trust his right hand to do the job the nails on his left hand were long.
My father had must have thought about it for a while before coming to the conclusion that he had to ask for assistance. It was an awkward experience on my part. I didn't think I'd nip his finger, but I couldn't feel where the clippers were. I had a new respect for manicurists and nail technicians. It might have appeared comical. I'd position the clipper, then move my head around to see if the clipper was going to nip his skin before actually clipping his nails.
I wonder why he doesn't use a nail file, but then maybe it's also a problem with gripping.
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