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Sunday, June 26, 2005

PT World Tour, Part 4

Parts 1 2 3 4 4.5 5

Dateline: Hillcrest, NY

Friday morning we did some shopping on Main Street and arranged to meet up with Shira Salamone and her husband for lunch. As I left the house, my Mom asked whom I was meeting. "Someone I met on the internet," I told her. I felt very lame as I said that. My wife went looking for "modest" clothes for the girls for school, and after buying a bunch of CDs and tztzis and other essentials at the book store, I snuck into the library across the street to answer email and get some blogging in.

Perel told me that she saw some "modest" clothes at the Jewish clothing store, but she was shocked at how "clingy" they were. They didn't show much skin, but they left little to the imagination. I told her this might be an example of adhering to the letter of the law while missing the spirit of the law.

After leaving the library, I headed towards the Pizza shop when I saw this couple staring at us. I figured it must be Shira and her husband. After all, I had posted a bunch of pictures of the family last week, and here I was walking down Main Street with the PT wearing a bright red "The Cheat" shirt perched up on my shoulders. Hard to miss.

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It's funny, but you get a certain impression of someone by reading what they write, and often when you meet them you find that you were completely wrong. I think I was pretty on-target with Shira. Her accent was pretty thick though (I must have some kind of fixation on accents) but she tells me she had laryngitis. She was also dressed very "frum", hat, skirt, etc. She tells me she was under-cover. Whatever. I felt very comfortable sitting, eating (like a slob, I might add--no neat way to eat a falafel) and talking with them. They are wonderful, warm people, and I feel richer for having spent some time with them.

Back at the house, I had to rouse my father for his physical therapy session. This was 2pm, and he hadn't gotten out of bed for the day. In a bizarre repeat of the morning session with my boys, I had to keep going into his room to tell him to wake up and get out of bed. I cut up a grapefruit for him and got his breakfast ready. My mom came home (from picking up my neice) and was alarmed, because it was already 2:30 and I still hadn't managed to get him into the kitchen. And the therapist was coming at 3, and if he's not ready, the guy will just sit there and read the newspaper and Dad won't get any therapy.

We got him ready and sat him on the couch by 3pm. The therapist showed up at 4, and my Dad was just about ready to go back to bed. My Mom was pretty pissed, but I managed to get the session going and I went outside with them to observe the session. It seems that at this point, all they do is get him up, walk him down the stairs, and then up and down the block. My Dad complained of fatigue, but actually made it about a quarter of the way around the block. The therapist told me that the fist few sessions he could only go one or two houses before being completely pooped out.

I'm not sure how he got into such bad shape, but I was glad that he is showing signs of improvement. I'm somewhat concerned about what will happen when the therapy sessions are done. I tried to make an impression on my Dad that he has to keep doing this on his own or he will end up in a Nursing Home. Nothing like the NH word to scare an elderly person. When I was a kid, I would never dream of talking to my father like this. He was a completely authoritarian, and we never raised our voices to him. I'm not sure when the roles reversed. It's an odd feeling.

Coming up Next: Shabbos in the Old neighborhood.

Parts 1 2 3 4 4.5 5

2 comments:

Shira Salamone said...

We had a grand old time hanging out with the gantze mishpocheh. You folks are fun to be with.

"Her accent was pretty thick though (I must have some kind of fixation on accents) but she tells me she had laryngitis." Oh, yeah, I had laryngitis, all right--I would say I had a frog in my throat, if frogs weren't treif :)--but as for the "accent" part, I confess to being highly amused. People with a really good ear for accents can tell that, however thick my accent may be, it ain't from New York City--I grew up in South Jersey, 20 minutes by car from Center City Philadelphia, and I've been told that I retain my South Jersey/Philadelphian accent even after having lived in New York City for over 30 years.

Judging by the fact that you've already posted a comment to my post about the meeting of our two clans, I gather that you've read my play-by-play account. Obviously, I had a lot more time available to write--and you had far higher priorities. I wish your father all the best.

PsychoToddler said...

Shira: My lack of detail is not a reflection on the quality of the visit. During my stay in NY I had to engage in "guerrilla blogging." I had to find a computer, get on, and type something up quick before being kicked off.