Somebody shoot me, please.

I care for my husband's elderly mother who lives with us, and lately she's been doing poorly. It started with an infection (cellulitis) in her left foot. Antibiotics cleared that up in about a week and then she came down with a really mean chest cold. I believe in "feed a cold, starve a fever", so I have been trying to get her to eat for 5 days now. I have succeeded in getting very little food and even less liquid into her because she has, in her own words, decided to starve herself to death. Dave got her to eat breakfast this morning, and she has been sipping on the same Coke most of the day. In the meantime, she has lost control of her bladder and other nether processes and refuses to go to the doctor. If she continues this way, she will end up in the hospital.
Except... I went into her room to change her sheets and there were several candy wrappers stashed around her chair. I found a bag of chips in her magazine rack. We heard her in the kitchen making a cup of tea last night. Sigh.
I am reading a book now entitled "Emotional Blackmail". I think I am living with a master.

And so... frolic!

Three major influences in my "literary" life- Shakespeare, Tolkien... and Jethro Tull. The above title comes from "The Taming of the Shrew"- Petrucchio says it after he has completely trashed Katarina's new wardrobe. It is kind of a motto with me- pops out of my mouth every time things have gone particularly badly. I read Tolkien for the first time while I was pregnant with my son almost 30 years ago. Hated "The Hobbit" but began a lifelong love affair with "The Lord of the Rings". I have read it at least once a year since my first encounter with that remarkable work. I think only Christopher Lee has read it more frequently than I. As much as I adore the film trilogy, nothing can supplant the book in my affection. After 30+ readings, I am still finding new things in that work. Now... what about Jethro Tull? JT makes up a significant part of the sound track of my life. At different times in my life, certain works by Ian Anderson and crew have resonated deeply with my spirit. "Skating away on the thin ice of a new day". Isn't that a wonderful, true, brilliant description of the experience of life? "He put away his looking glass and saw his face in everyone." Life as passion play. Minstrels in the gallery. Songs of the wood. Jack in the green. Now I have been listening to the instrumentals of the aging Ian Anderson, who, after years as a professional flutist, took time off to take lessons; I can recommend highly "Twelve Dances with God". If I was to be abandoned on a desert island, I would hope to have Shakespeare, Tolkien and Jethro Tull with me. Well, okay, a desert island with electricity and a good CD player. And a soft chair. And a reading lamp. And that's all I need.... besides food, water and a bathroom. And so, frolic!