Generations
We spent a nostalgic day watching my dad’s videotapes, recording them onto DVD’s all the while; what a marathon. Gilly removed himself from the situation and relaxed on the porch. I have a few theories as to why.
He had trouble with appetite all day, and found it difficult to drink as much fluid as is recommended while on Temodal (actually, it is what we should all be drinking, if truth be told). “I’m floating,” he complained. I empathized, but continued to hydrate him because the doctors and nurses stressed the importance. His energy level was understandably low. It wasn’t his worst day yet, but it was certainly not the best either. Luckily, he still has not shown signs of nausea. I'm not sure we could hope for better, considering the situation.
Susie and Joey joined me, Gilly, my mom, Auntie Ruth, Fred and Debbie for Shabbat dinner. Gilly found the evening a bit too hairy; it’s harder to find a quiet niche here than it is at home. I felt for him and tried to keep the noise level down. He did not complain, but it was written across his face.
Life goes on, and so it should, but we must remember to respect Gilly’s needs at the same time. Everyone cares deeply, so all I have to do is ask, and the natives begin to whisper, and agree to lower the volume on the T.V. Auntie Ruth and my mom are still glued to the T.V., even though they're unable to hear with the volume so low, out of respect for Gilly.
The videos my dad made over the 22 years he had his recorder are addictive. Once we get going, it’s hard to stop. My father was a true documenter; he filmed our lives growing up on Super 8 (you know, the old reels), and continued with full force to capture his grandchildren on videotape. He was an amateur photographer as a teenager; we have some wonderful shots he developed in his own dark room. He came by it naturally; my grandfather kept a diary from the time he was very young (including his first hand account of the first world war as a soldier and a prisoner) and maintained a journal until he died. He took movies too when movie cameras first came out. I suppose it’s in my blood; I have taken to keeping an on-line journal (I.E. this blog), digital photos and all. I’ve inherited my dad’s video camera and his role; now I get the groans from my sister-in-law when I pull out the camera, “Don’t film me. My hair’s a mess.” Believe me when I tell you that it’s far from the truth. I should have such messy hair. With all the data we’ve collectively compiled, we have enough for a mini-series!
He had trouble with appetite all day, and found it difficult to drink as much fluid as is recommended while on Temodal (actually, it is what we should all be drinking, if truth be told). “I’m floating,” he complained. I empathized, but continued to hydrate him because the doctors and nurses stressed the importance. His energy level was understandably low. It wasn’t his worst day yet, but it was certainly not the best either. Luckily, he still has not shown signs of nausea. I'm not sure we could hope for better, considering the situation.
Susie and Joey joined me, Gilly, my mom, Auntie Ruth, Fred and Debbie for Shabbat dinner. Gilly found the evening a bit too hairy; it’s harder to find a quiet niche here than it is at home. I felt for him and tried to keep the noise level down. He did not complain, but it was written across his face.
Life goes on, and so it should, but we must remember to respect Gilly’s needs at the same time. Everyone cares deeply, so all I have to do is ask, and the natives begin to whisper, and agree to lower the volume on the T.V. Auntie Ruth and my mom are still glued to the T.V., even though they're unable to hear with the volume so low, out of respect for Gilly.
The videos my dad made over the 22 years he had his recorder are addictive. Once we get going, it’s hard to stop. My father was a true documenter; he filmed our lives growing up on Super 8 (you know, the old reels), and continued with full force to capture his grandchildren on videotape. He was an amateur photographer as a teenager; we have some wonderful shots he developed in his own dark room. He came by it naturally; my grandfather kept a diary from the time he was very young (including his first hand account of the first world war as a soldier and a prisoner) and maintained a journal until he died. He took movies too when movie cameras first came out. I suppose it’s in my blood; I have taken to keeping an on-line journal (I.E. this blog), digital photos and all. I’ve inherited my dad’s video camera and his role; now I get the groans from my sister-in-law when I pull out the camera, “Don’t film me. My hair’s a mess.” Believe me when I tell you that it’s far from the truth. I should have such messy hair. With all the data we’ve collectively compiled, we have enough for a mini-series!
posted by Gilly at 10:20 PM
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