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Thanks greg so very much for posting the list for me. I am sending a copy of this to Archbishop Tutu's assistant, because I am dangerously close to being imprisoned, at age 50, in a "nursing home" - as it is euphemistically called. I say imprisoned, because there is no other way to portray my feelings about the place to which I would, under protest, be forced to go, unless something is done to stop the drama. For me, a "nursing home" compares to a Nazi death camp. Is it at Buchenwald, that a wrought-iron sign that I once saw, looming like a specter at the entrance, and proclaiming, "Arbeit Macht Frei," etches forever into my mind?? Having just had two ambulance visits simultaneously, and not even knowing who called them from 22 miles away, while meanwhile, my low-wage caregiver did not show up, and his substitute was too hung over to care, and then, having opened my mail, only to find a warning from the Maine Bureau of Elder Affairs--translate that , Greg, as the Maine Bureau of Elder Imprisonment, a brazen order from Augusta, co-signed by 5 beaureaucrats, so that no one of them bears the individual responsibility of having told this PWP to get ready for transfer to a " long-term care facility." I hae to ask them: Who will water and prune the vine that bears the rose of Sharon? Who will snip back the grapevines that gave 27 jars of jam last fall? Who will gently twist the dead blossoms of the rhododendrons slowly, and counter-clockwise, each November, and thus ensure that their cascading display will be even better the following spring? who will mimic, in March and April, the early morning songbird quartet of chickadee, tufted titmouse, house finch and robin, whistled for PWP voice practice out the bedroom windows, while the lilac buds swell and the tulips stretch so tall? will there be anyone to manage 9 Range street at all? who will talk to Winnie at 4 AM, purring against my elbow, and forget that there is snow to shovel and ice on the stairs? who will fling Christmas lights in a wild, wintry and wooly effort to straighten out an indoors bout with bradykinesia, and once moving smoothly, even perhaps with a dancer's grace, arrange white lights decorously upon the male and female holly bushes that intermingle in deep winter's stillness, forever deep, dark green, against the old front porch stairs? and who will laugh as the Hannukah menorah that was sent to him by PWP Hilary from the West Bank. is filled with candles of pink, red and lilac, which will be praised with song and lit, only when an off-period ends? and Greg, who will sweep the garage floor at 5 AM and find sunflower seed husks poked open by brave and unknown mice who dined in after-midnight splendor, squeaking with delight beneath the woodpile? who will read Proclamations of Parkinson's Awareness excitedly to friends, until the phone bill is out-of-control? and who will make trips to the post office to send out videos and audiocassettes to PWP's in foreign lands? who will write poetry about the purple crocuses and who will cut the lawn at 9 Range Street in a crazy PWP pattern, leaving it quilt-like with uncut areas to save spring violets, and because SinemetCR had worn off too suddenly? who will understand the logic of carpeted stairs with double railings, or why the sink faucet moves hydraulically, and why upside-down door-levers are installed instead of doorknobs? or why the green room reverberated with an hour's struggle in the height of the joy of an evening on-period, to perfect Clair de Lune, complex phrases melting like jello, or how the voices of 7 guys blended into one chord, as the bass-section got ready for the next concert? my offffffffffffff-periods are now so deep, when i wake up from more than a few hours of sleep, even though my long and happy onnnnnnnnn-periods are so great that 9 Range Street becomes paradise on Earth, my ability to stay at home is about to terminate. if my shrinking night crew doesn't receive a raise from the legislature, it's sayonara I believe. not goodbye to my PIEN family for a whille, but a permanent removal from home to institutional exile. i wonder if the computer station in my kitchen is transferrable to a nursing home, or if i will be forever stuck in a gulag, forever stiff, covered with cobwebs...... i wonder what will happen to my pet kitty if she and I are imprisoned in a high-rise in the city i better stop wondering about Winnie, and try to figure out what to do to avoid the noose of the nursing home. i am too close to the Bureau of Elder Imprisonment noose, and it frightens me. ivan 50/39/36 On Thu, 27 Apr 2000 10:14:21 -0400 Greg Sterling <[log in to unmask]> writes: > All, > Ivan requested that I relay the following. He is without his > computer at present due to a care-worker ripping the cables out and > leaving. His care-workers are only being paid $15/night and he is > having great difficulty in retaining them. He is looking for > someone to spend the summer with him. If any List member knows of > anyone they can contact him directly. > > He should be back on soon > > Greg > 47/35/35 ^^^^^^ WARM GREETINGS FROM ^^^^^^^^^^^^ :-) Ivan Suzman 50/39/36 [log in to unmask] :-) Portland, Maine land of lighthouses deg. F :-) ********************************************************************