(The second word in today's post title is not, as it happens, French for "kaffeeklatch." And yet -- there's the pot and the pouring, right there in the word. Darned etymologists, why didn't they stay with bugs?)
So, Mom X improved steadily; they dropped one of her medications and lo, it was the underlying cause of her symptoms. She was able to return home yesterday afternoon. This made her happy -- there's company in the hospital and these days the food is pretty good, but it's just not home.
The kitchen drain here at Roseholme Cottage remains, shall we say, blocked. I took the trap apart yesterday, just in case things were simple, but they're not: the block is further in, somewhere in the approximately 2" diameter PVC pipe that snakes crazily across the basement ceiling between the kitchen sink and the old cast-iron main drain line, the full width of the house and half the length away. I considered trying the vacuum, but A) my Shop-Vac is a tiny one and B) life is too short to spend much of it scrubbing sewer slime out of a Shop-Vac, unpaid. The plumber should have the tools for this job and the experience to know which one to use. The drain crosses above my ham shack, present packed full with things moved to make a path for the high-speed Internet installation, so that could be a complication if the drain is really badly blocked.
Rannie Wu the Cat appears to be able to discern the difference between Bertolli Classco olive oil in a glass bottle and the same thing (according to the label) in a plastic bottle, and she disapproves highly of the latter. Sniffed at it and stalked off, radiating disappointment. "We are not at home to Mrs. Cheapskate." Sheesh. You take the cat to Broad Ripple and she turns into a foodie snob. I'll see if native-born Huck wants any; he'll usually give it a taste.
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
1 year ago