Dearest Rachel –
Well, it would seem that the crisis has passed once again. After yet another scare, it looks like Dad is going to recover. He’s even making plans for what life will be like for him once he returns home, although he’s accepted that it won’t happen for at least three or four weeks to come. To be sure, those plans basically involve hiring in-home care for himself, and what this person’s duties might necessarily entail; he can’t have them just sitting around the house, waiting for him to need them. He’s hoping to have them take over certain of Mom’s duties at home, including some that are only peripherally related to his presence, such as laundry (which would require going downstairs, often carrying stuff, and therefore pose certain dangers for her. Anything to avoid a fall).
He also – shades of his previous visit to this self-same rehabilitation center – has given me his blessing to travel, starting the end of this month. His only requirement is that I make an effort to keep in touch directly with him. To that end, I’ve set up a voice-over-internet app on his phone (and may need to do the same with his iPad, if possible) so that, even in countries where I don’t get phone service, I can still communicate with him as he’s asking of me. I still intend to film myself and Daniel as we make our way across the Pacific, but contacting Dad needs to be more personal and interactive than all that. So we’re making those arrangements to accommodate his request.
At the same time, he’s made it clear, with something of a mock apology, that he won’t be available to drive us to the airport on the day we intend to fly out for Tokyo. I shouldn’t have to tell you that we’re perfectly understanding about that situation, but I might as well state that outright; it’s not always easy to make jokes clear in print.
So for now, I have a new schedule, one I think I spelled out previously to you, but if not, here it is; head to the ‘office’ for the morning, get what ‘work’ done that I can and need to (which, as you know, is much less than my old work farce workload, but it would mean that my avocational project will be back-burnered for a while. I’m not sure if and when I can get back to testing my camera, or if I’ll have a handle on it before flying out), and then spend the rest of the day at the rehab center with him and Mom starting some time between noon and one. Unlike my prior ‘office’ days, I won’t be heading out from there until at least five, and probably closer to six; although these days, I don’t have to worry about doing so in darkness, as the sun stays up much later than when he was over there the last time.
Now, there are and will be exceptions; just yesterday, in fact, I only stopped by there for an hour, as I was going to meet Lars for our customary walk (that we skipped the week before due to all the surrounding chaos). Friday will see me with Daniel to take care of getting some documentation replaced, and next week, I’ve an appointment that I referred to the other day to meet with our lawyer about some new developments with your mom’s estate. And some time this week, at Dad’s recommendation, I’ll be taking Mom out to her favorite garden center to pick out this year’s selection of flowers and whatnot for her to plant in the backyard, as opposed to just getting them for her (or getting her a gift card from the place); I’ll probably have Daniel in tow as well, so as to take her out to dinner, too, all as a complete pre-Mother’s Day present.
My point is, though, that for all the time spent either with him at the rehabilitation center or out and about, I won’t have infinite amounts of time to noodle around with stuff at the ‘office’ proper. I’m sure you might be able to guess that oftentimes, I’m writing you from there, because it’s the best time for me to be able to focus on doing something like that – and, let’s face it, I don’t have the workload to justify being down there for even five or six hours any given weekday, let alone a full eight. This, while not ‘work’ per se, is something I try to hew to on a daily basis, and being in front of a computer like I am then, it seems optimal to do so there. Besides, I’m better connected to my social media there.
As a result, I’m doing what I can to get more of this letter written to you before I head out to the ‘office,’ so I can use the time there more toward actual tasks that need being done for other people. Sometimes, I have an idea that I can start in on the night before; others, I just start in on as soon as I can think of something in the morning before breakfast – and once I’m well on my way with it, I put myself together in order to have that breakfast as a reward. Not too much, though, as you’ll notice there isn’t much in the way of time to work out anymore, and that’s something I have to be careful about, if I’m to stave off weight gain.
Thus far, this new version of ‘normal’ seems to be working out, though – even the fact that I’ve managed to back away from the two-thirty line. The irony – or is it to have been expected all along? – of this packed schedule is that its very busyness means that there’s more in it to tell you about. All that remains is to find the time to put it all together for you in a digestible amount. Up until now, I was afraid that wouldn’t be possible, as I don’t tend to focus very well here at home, but it seems that, in the quiet of the morning, with Logan at work himself upstairs and Daniel asleep in the family room. I’m confined to doing stuff that doesn’t disturb anybody, and this certainly fits that bill (granted, I could as easily be going through my newsfeed, but let’s let that slide for now; the articles will still be there in a few hours, when I have other forms of downtime).
Now, it’s entirely possible that, as the days stretch on and blend into each other, there will be less ‘new’ to tell you about each day; so I may get harder-pressed to present you with an interesting topic from one day to the next. But for now, that looks to be a problem for a future date. For now, I can just ask you to keep an eye on me, and wish me well, as I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 