Mom's surgery went well last night. She didn't get into the ICU until about 11:30 PM, I got to see her for a minute just to make sure she was okay, and went home to collapse. I've seen her this morning and she was up in a chair with a sore tummy and a morphine habit. She's finding the morphine disappointing as it isn't totally removing her surgery pain and it's ticking her off. She's in the ICU because they want to keep close tabs on her breathing with her ongoing COPD but I'm guessing they'll move her to a room later today. Don't know how long she'll be in yet. That's pretty much taken over my brain. I am at work. I couldn't leave Mrs. Boss in the lurch since I was gone all last week, so DS is sitting with her this morning and Durwood's on tap for the afternoon. Why can't I have a normal mother who has normal old-lady maladies? No, I get an 83 yr. old bridge freak who makes doll clothes and gets a ruptured appendix. Most old ladies get stuff like rheumatism and dementia, Mom's demented but in a whole other way. No wonder she doesn't look her age, she doesn't act it. She's also peeved that she'll miss the first Family Sunday Supper coming up this Sunday. We were planning on her making dessert so DS & DIL1 are taking that on. DS said they'd make substandard food so she won't miss anything. I gave him the look and nipped that idea right in the bud. We're making soup so I'll save her some for when she's back home. It was nearly midnight when I got home and I was bushed but I did manage to squeeze out a few words.
October 11--Charles Demuth, The Figure 5 in Gold. Black, red, and gold. Rich colors swirled in Chase's dream. Five in gold. The numeral swam in his brain like a talisman. Tiny letters, names floated around the fives, as if the numbers alone were not enough. It was an industrial place with hard edges and radiating lines with electricity implicit in their strength and angles.
I wish I could show you this painting. It really fascinates me. I tried to scan it into the computer but the scan function just sits there looking at me and blinking. I guess I'd need a teenager to figure it out. *I found it online and discovered that it was written about a William Carlos Williams poem. I linked the title to the site.*