This tree is a guest tree. My mother took some pictures of trees and sent them to me for days when I failed to collect my own tree picture. So my mother told me this is a lemon scented gum tree.
This is a tree up at the tree farm.
Today, we went to the VA hospital again with Arthur. This time, it was a one-year follow-up with the polytrauma team. They lauded his recovery, but expressed concern about the possibility of ongoing “mini strokes” as some post-accident MRI’s seem to indicate – but VA internal documentation doesn’t seem well enough organized for them to be sure what’s going on (problems in communication between “Alaska division” and “Portland division”, etc.). Arthur remains quite resistant to even the idea of the initial stroke, much less the idea of mini-strokes that don’t necessarily feel like or seem like what we normally think of as a stroke. So it all seems like just talk, at some level, if it’s not going to impact behavior or self-concept.
For dinner I went to my cousin’s son’s pub in Forest Grove and talked with my cousin and her husband for a few hours – mostly about what it means when one’s elders become senescent and you have to deal with that.
When I was a child, Arthur used to pretend to be Mr Grinch. He liked the schtick, and it suited his personality.
Keith’s family is very musical. So they come and perform music. Here is Keith’s sister, Michelle, her husband Tim, and Ky (sp?), who is Keith’s nephew (but not Michelle and Tim’s son). They are performing the song, Mr Grinch.
“Mr. Grinch,” written by Theodor Geisel (Dr Seuss).
You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch
You really are a heel,
You’re as cuddly as a cactus, you’re as charming as an eel, Mr. Grinch,
You’re a bad banana with a greasy black peel!
You’re a monster, Mr. Grinch,
Your heart’s an empty hole,
Your brain is full of spiders, you have garlic in your soul, Mr. Grinch,
I wouldn’t touch you with a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole!
You’re a foul one, Mr. Grinch,
You have termites in your smile,
You have all the tender sweetness of a seasick crocodile, Mr. Grinch,
Given a choice between the two of you’d take the seasick crocodile!
You’re a rotter, Mr. Grinch,
You’re the king of sinful sots,
Your heart’s a dead tomato splotched with moldy purple spots, Mr. Grinch,
You’re a three decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce!
You nauseate me, Mr. Grinch,
With a nauseous super “naus”!,
You’re a crooked dirty jockey and you drive a crooked hoss, Mr. Grinch,
Your soul is an appalling dump heap overflowing with the most disgraceful
assortment of rubbish imaginable mangled up in tangled up knots!
You’re a foul one, Mr. Grinch,
You’re a nasty wasty skunk,
Your heart is full of unwashed socks, your soul is full of gunk, Mr. Grinch,
The three words that best describe you are as follows, and I quote,
“Stink, stank, stunk”!
Our Thanksgiving Thursday was very low-key. Our main, feasting-focused, celebratory event will be on Saturday – that works out better for people’s travel schedules to get here, etc.
So we just had dinner, the four of us: Juli, Keith, Arthur and I.
I am not in the best of sorts, lately. Between the lingering head-cold and the stunning, frustrating and discombobulating news that I am not considered an Alaska Resident by the University of Alaska, I have been feeling physically and emotionally wrecked.