Long-Distance Dining

I was lying on the couch in my mom's hospital ring when my phone chimed with a text: Your dasher is approaching with your order, it read. The delivery guy in question, however, was approaching my front door in Virginia, where Heidi, Emily, Riley, and Treat had gathered and ordered takeout for dinner.

A moment later my phone rang. The dasher? was confused by the house numbers in our complex. "Oh, you're not too far, off," I told him, and gave him a little more precise direction.

It was another Ding! a minute later that assured me the food was there, and dinner was served. Bon Appetite! you guys.

Birds of Prey

In addition to being a world-class health care facility, he Mayo Clinic is home to a Peregrine Falcon nesting box. Early today, I told my brother Bill the story that a friend of my mom's who works here at the clinic told us.

"My office window faces south," he said, and the designers of the building back in the 1950s engineered these clever metal louvres to keep the building from betting too hot in the summer. The only problem is, the falcons like them too, and every so often there are gruesome little bird parts hanging outside my window."

Bill and I looked way up to the top of the Mayo Building. "I guess they're up there," I shrugged. "I'm not sure when and if they migrate."

A little later in my mom's hospital room, Bill walked quickly over to the window and looked up. "I saw two little feathers float down," he said, "but no Falcons are up there."

A little while later after that, he went down to the street level and outside to smoke. Back up here, he reported his own gory little finding: a pair of wings lying on the sidewalk, connected only by sinew and feathers.

I'd guess that means the falcons are still in town.

Jokey Jokester

I was loaded down with shopping bags and a rotisserie chicken from Costco yesterday when I returned from a few quick errands. Setting down the 12 pack of seltzer water, I fumbled in my pocket for the fob that would admit me to the apartment building. A gray haired guy of about my age waved at me from the lobby, pretended to walk away, and then turned around grinning and pushed open the door.

"I guess I can help you out!" he laughed.

"That's mighty nice of ya!" I said drily.

"Not really," he laughed again. "Where's my payment?"

I jerked my head to the strawberry box balanced in the crook of my arm with the chicken in it. "Do you want a leg or a wing?" I asked.

"Neither!" he answered. "I'm having pizza tonight!"

Mirror, Mirror Down the Hall

And... Airbnb #4. I rose early this morning and packed up all the stuff I have accumulated over the last 9 days and hauled it from Apt 228 to Apt 310, down the long hall and up a floor. "At least you know how to work the elevator," my mom said.

The new unit is almost identical with the exception of the full length mirror in the living room that is replaced with a door to a second bedroom with ensuite bath. It's a nice floor plan, but since I'm by myself?

I really miss the mirror.

Code Orange

The news we received from the nurse practitioner in charge of my mother's case was not what we hoped, and there seemed no end in sight to the 2 tubes in my mom's nose. When she left the room, we looked at each other and sighed. "I have got to find a way to get that orange juice!" my mom said, breaking the mood with plucky pragmatism.

It was true, she hasn't been able to have anything other than 2 popsicles a day for the last 5 days, and the week before that she was too nauseous to eat. This afternoon when I went to get a quick sandwich for lunch, I spotted a pint of my mom's favorite OJ, and with her next procedure 24 hours away, I added it to my order and brought it upstairs.

And I'm glad I did-- my mom sipped a few satisfying ounces through a straw, with no ill effects. Maybe after 2 weeks in the hospital, it's time to bend a few rules.

Flannel and Fleece

"Thank you for my birthday present," my nephew said on the phone today.

"I didn't give you anything, yet," I laughed. "Sorry! I was thinking of a flannel shirt, though. Your mom told me you don't have one."

He was uncertain what I was talking about, and so my sister and I described what we were talking about.

"If it's soft and cozy," he said, "I'm in!"

I know what he means. Since I've been here in Minnesota with my mom in the hospital, I've bought pajama bottoms, woolen mukluks, a soft sweatshirt, a sweater, and today? Knit slippers with a fleece lining. They offer me a bit of comfort.

And when I hung up, I popped open my laptop and found the perfect, fleece-lined flannel hoodie for my nephew.

Prisoner of the Mind

I was a little flustered when I checked into my new airbnb this afternoon. To begin with, the instructions were extremely complicated, involving an electronic directory, a lockbox, and a key fob. When at last I had made it into the building, I headed through the lobby and rounded a corner to the elevator.

Boarding the single car by myself, I turned to face the door and pushed the button for the second floor. A moment later, I heard the ding, but the doors did not open. I punched the button again, and heard a faint sliding somewhere, but the stainless in front of me stayed shut tight. Am I really stuck in this elevator? I thought, and problem-solving, I tried the button for the third floor.

The elevator rose, but the same thing happened: ding, a quiet swish, and me looking at immovable doors. I pushed 2 again, and accepting that I was really trapped, I tapped the red SOS button. A recording asked me to state my concern. "I'm stuck in an elevator!" I answered with irritation, and after a pause, a phone, who knows where, began to ring.

Wondering how long I was going to be trapped, I sighed and turned to lean on the wall to my left. It was then I noticed the second set of doors behind me... wide open. "Hello?" a tinny voice hailed me from the speaker on the wall, but I was already halfway down the hall, and on my way out? I took the stairs.