Join The Lucille Abbey $12.95 Club!The enclosed pieces (Grom Who and the week that was) serve as prelude and historical cues to my latest "project." This one just happens to be my most important.By far. Please consider. You all know the splendid little mural on the downtown Woolworth's Building at 818 State, so you all know my Grandmother. She's the little gal second from the left, proffering a dish of ice cream and wearing a stylish pink suit. She's 92, and by necessity she lives with us now. My life has changed gears dramatically. NO spare time. Thirty-percent cut in wages (I used to work 55 hours per week, but I'm now playing "night-nurse" from 5 PM to 8AM.) I'm learning many new things and giving many foot rubs, back scratches, hugs, and bouts of cackling giggles to the beloved hag. We're having fun, dammitt. On Friday, the 14th of January, I received a phone call from social services at Hamot Hospital, where my Grandmother has spent a few recent spans-of-days recovering from heart attacks and strokes. (She's okay for now. Weak and a bit unable, but okay.) The social services person informed me that my mother had called to tell them that my Grandmother was "too difficult for home care" and she wanted immediate assistance in placing her in a nursing home. Without mentioning this to us. Or toanyone else, as it turns out. Lucille's three local children (my mother; my aunt; my uncle) are all retired and fixed-incomed, and understandably stressed about meeting the expenses of a day-care worker to help out while my wife Sandy and I are at our jobs, and instead of working out some creative solutions (like the one you're reading) my mother decided, in a cold and horrible void, to bail out and have Lucille shipped to a nursing home. This will not do, so I've put some brakes on it. In brief:
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