Under duress, I have joined the Twittersphere. My first formal book review was accepted (yay!) and should be published in the next month or so, and for the bioblurb at the end of the article, the editors asked for my Twitter handle. Apparently it's "the thing" for writers these days, although I note that neither of two of my favorites (Laura Hillenbrand and Neal Stephenson) seem to participate.
It was a joke this summer in Prague that, will or no, I'd learn to cut my TTT (teacher talking time) to a minimum, and evidence of this would be a Twitter account, given its limit of 140 characters. So, one of the first people I followed was my final CELTA tutor (the one of whom I had been so terrified, convinced she loathed me, and who turned out to be thoroughly kind).
Grandmommy is having cataract surgery on Wednesday. I'm to return to Dublin for the third time in as many weeks on Tuesday to help her with last minute prep (she wants to get her hair done) and make sure she gets safely to and from the doctor's office. She's understandably nervous--the thought of having someone cutting one's eye is fundamentally terrifying--but at the pre-op visit Friday, she was most fixated on the fact that she'd be denied her traditional morning coffee prior to anesthesia. The nurse assured her it would be available in the recovery room. All I got was ice chips! But we were told in cataract surgery recovery, they even offer snacks. Plush.
The synthetic lens they plan to insert in her eye is shaped like the hurricane icon on digital weather maps. It's cool. I hope she hasn't any complications.
I'm so glad to report Grandmommy is again walking comfortably. She is someone who doesn't complain, and so when she mentioned last week that her toes were so painful they were keeping her up at night, I was ready to join my aunt in recommending surgery--it's too hot nowadays for anyone sane to exercise outdoors when the sun is up, but when the weather cools we want her to be able to return to her regular mile-plus walking routine. But (as my father always noted) foot surgery is a purely hit-or-miss operation, which oftentimes does little good, and in an elderly person can often handicap more than it heals, given the necessary length of recovery. Grandmommy decided to start applying some prescription cream to the affected digits, and praise God (as she frequently does), it's working!
We all had an awesome time with my niece and nephew this last Wednesday and Thursday. My brother-in-law drove them up from Orlando to visit their Great-Grandmommy, and my mother and I came down from Augusta to be with them (I got so confused trying to keep the terms Grandmommy and Great-Grandmommy straight!). The kids picked almost a gallon of blueberries, snacked on the few ripe(ish) scuppernongs and pulled some green pears. While Brad busied himself with other activities, Rita played two games of Scrabble with her old aunt, her Grandmommy and Great-Grandmommy.
Speaking of old aunts, while their father went back to the motel for an hour or two to work, my mother and I took the two children to an antique mall. My nephew looked around at the assorted knickknacks and, seizing my arm, announced that he had found a great antique: me. A wit, that one. I think my friend Amy would call this poetic justice.