They sent Mom home last evening; my sister took her back to the double-bar X ranch (or whatever Mom's place is called; Full Circle, perhaps, as the moderately upscale neighborhood she and Dad retired to is only a few blocks from the once family-owned building where they lived as newlyweds over some leased-out storefronts and a gas station and restaurant my uncles ran, back when where she lives now was nothing by wide-open farm fields -- and the house Dad grew up in still stood two doors down from their first apartment until a few years ago).
Mom's in good spirits, having "only" (?) cracked part of the interesting projections of a couple a spinal bones, a rib and gotten well-bruised. Nothing you can splint, pin together or put in a cast and she heals well; treatment will consist of moving carefully and being wary of further falls.
I'm well-buried with work and having to make up lost time; I've asked Tam to stop by up there noonish (with a couple of wonderful Aurora Golden Gala apples, easily the best snacking apple you'll find in supermarkets just now and I'm wondering what they'd do in a pie -- bestow happiness, most likely) and I'll make my appearance after sundown.
Looks like Mom's going to agree to one of those page-the-responders widgets, a on a breakaway lanyard she can wear, one button away from help. I'm happy to take her calls but we need to ensure she gets help quickly when she needs it.
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
1 year ago