Updating, her feet are decidedly healing, tho there is a long way to
go. She is having physical and occupational therapy every weekday just
steps from her room, and the dietary staff more often than not
actually gets her meal order correct.

There are still headaches, such as that the other tenant in the room
is hard-of-hearing and has to crank up the telly to the point where
nobody can hear themselves think, and that reeeeally trivial facts
from her past, such as how her mother instilled in her the good idea
of putting cornstarch in a baby-powder tin, occasionally pop into her
head. The cornstarch issue is unimplementable in a modern context, as
baby-powder containers are no longer metal nor have screw-off tops
anymore, and damned if she's going to use something that would usually
hold, say, grated cheese.

"But what about YOU, Bob?" asks... somebody.  Well, there's two
lounges either end of the wing, both with flat-screen TVs (as
mentioned earlier, we share a cabler), the bigger one with two PCs
(Dell Optimuses with Pentium 8s, ah believe), the smaller one with
soda and snack machines. As the Statlers sang, don't tell me I've
nothing to do...



--
BOB

-- 
TV or Not TV .... The Smartest (TV) People!
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