22 August 2020
So how does this sound to you? Filet of salmon with a side of polenta. Oh, come on. How about if we add a packet of Mrs. Dash? No self-respecting hospital serves a meal without Mrs. Dash.
Joyce hated it. Inedible.
Meanwhile here at the fort we indulged in Trader Joe's frozen paella. You toss it into a skillet heated up high, cover it for three minutes and stir it up for a couple more and you don't need Mrs. Dash.
No complaints.
Joyce didn't complain about her knee today (a good sign) and did work with her physical therapist. She saw Dr. Cook but neglected to ask her to call me.
Just as well. I went to San Mateo with the Mundstocks for a nice lunch at Wurtzhall. On a bench in the street with a masked server who delivered what we ordered over a smartphone.
It was quite pleasant to spend some time with actual human beings. We can imagine the toll isolation is taking on Joyce.
Alice was timid about calling Joyce but I told her to go ahead. And later in the day, after she did, Joyce was just delighted to talk to someone she knew from her previous life as a human being.
I didn't have a chance to catch up with her until late in the day. For one thing, she was charging her phone. For the other, I was dismantling our washing machine, which after 15+ years was making noise like a drummer.
Probably the bearings we concluded, screwing everything back together. We'll have to send the thing to surgery or, worse, have it hauled away.
Hmm. Not the right metaphor.