Wonderful lunch with my twin yesterday. We both had a grilled shrimp and fresh fruit salad, dressed with balsamic and oil--oh, so yummy--and good sisterly talk. She gave me the portrait of Norman Schwartzkopf's father, which I'll show Jim H., our stage manager, one of these days, in case it can be used in "Hedda Gabler."
Story of the portrait as I understand it: It had been painted by the artist mother of Betty's friend, Dottie (the one whose hair style I copied). Betty acquired it years ago after she borrowed it from Dottie (don't ask why) and Dottie later gave it to her. It looks remarkably like a sturdier Hitler and shows Swartzkopf, who was in both world wars, in full military regalia. He was the first commander of the New Jersey State Police, and was closely involved with the Lindbergh kidnapping.
Unfortunately, a lot of the paint on one side is flaking off, but maybe Jim and crew can repair it. Anyway, I'll show it to him and if it can be used, fine; otherwise, I'll just cart it back.

Yesterday was a frustrating dealing-for-dollars (medical expenses) day. I spoke to people at Community Surgical, Visiting Physicians, and the V.A. (I should get a medal for valor). Had to FAX documents here and there and heard from the V.A. that they won't pay for the recent EMT visit--or any other when Pat wasn't taken to the hospital. That means we owe the parent outfit--Monmouth Something Or Other--a cool thou. I told Pat that next time, I don't care if he has a stubbed toe, he's going.
Dr. Z., the podiatrist, came and worked on Pat's feet. The nails do look better, so something went right.
The bright spot was a web cam call from D.D. Ellen. We commiserated together over various woes and I felt better after. Today I meet sister Betty for lunch in Galloway and I'm looking forward to that.
Wider: Anti-War.com carries a long and chilling article called "America's Wars" by David Bromwich. In it, he emphasizes an ominous shift in thinking: Throughout U.S. history,war had been considered an aberration, but now it's beginning to seem in the natural order of things and is being planned for, far into the future:
"Robert Gates put the latest thinking into conventional form...(saying) 'I wanted a department that frankly could walk and chew gum at the same time, that could wage war as we are doing now, at the same time we plan and prepare for tomorrow’s wars.' The weird prospect that this usage – 'tomorrow’s wars' – renders routine is that we anticipate a good many wars in the near future. We are the ascendant democracy, the exceptional nation in the world of nations. To fight wars is our destiny and our duty. Thus the word “wars” – increasingly in the plural – is becoming the common way we identify not just the wars we are fighting now but all the wars we expect to fight."
The import of this is overwhelming. "Tomorrow's wars"--and the day after tomorrow, and next year, and in two decades, and the twenty-second century...

Met Mary Ellen for dinner at Applebee's last night and had an enjoyable time getting to know her. Had a hamburger, which I was annoyed they didn't cook rare, as I had asked, but what they called "medium rare," meaning overdone. The cute little waitress solemnly informed me that Applebee's "has to" do meat that way for reasons of safety. (Oh, gimme a break.)
ME and I had a nice "getting to know you" session, along with white zin and Corona with lime. Got home a bit after 9:00 and had a bowl of ice cream with Pat. Then another bowl. Then some chocolate chip cookies.
Now I must start back on the straight and narrow, food wise. I haven't gotten weighed lately, but think I've put on a few and I want to nip it in the bud.
Earlier, I got a very welcome call from J., who suggested she come down with the boys on Friday--yay! Hope it doesn't rain, although it's supposed to, I'm afraid. Must plan something else other than the pool.

Went to "Sunday At The Opera," run by my friend, Mary Ann Van O. at our clubhouse. It was the 1949 movie (set in the 1890s), Midnight Kiss, starring that talented tub of lard, Mario Lanza, and big-boobed Kathryn Grayson. It wasn't an actual opera, of course, but included arias and songs stuck into an incredibly contrived "plot"--I use the word advisedly--that from first word to last embrace, was predictable as the sunrise.
However, I liked it. True, I regard the era of the fifties (this was heading into them) as the most rigid, stilted, conformist, and least conducive to creativity possible. If you were at all "different"--handicapped, African-American, old, poor, or whatever--you were made to feel a lesser human. Yes, for all the present stupidity and excesses, I'm happier now than I was then. (The shrinks can chew on that if they want.)
I guess it's perverse, but what I enjoyed about this movie was its artifice. The eyelashes on Miss Grayson--three inches long and curly! Her shape--nineteen-inch waist and 36-D+ bust! The singing must have been pre-recorded, as it looked as if she could barely breathe, let along rev up for those ten-second trills. I'm pretty sure Mario was encorseted, too, and his perfect, over-all tan was surely sprayed on. David Niven was about the only one who seemed un-robotic. He was so elegant and his acting was so effortless and right, you wished Grayson had chosen him instead of the mugging meatball she--predictably--did.
Anyway, if I had to be inside, it was a reasonably pleasant way to spend a summer Sunday.
Of course, I'd rather be basking on the French Riviara.

Enjoying a surprise visit from sister Betty, on her way back from viewing her property in upstate New York. She got here about 6:30 and stayed over, so is sleeping peacefully in the guest room.
Other than that, an ordinary day: Did lots of wash, re-stocked my veggie supply by visiting B & B, and generally stuck to my knitting. Was glad to get a web cam call from P. and N. Got a (phone) call from Mary Ann Van O., whose husband has the same lousy malady as Pat, and will try to get to her monthly opera session today. We also made a date for lunch on Monday, the 26th.

Hey, things are looking up. Went to Kohl's early and got a pair of walking shoes (sneaks) with the 30 % off coupon. Pat okay after the early low blood sugar scare and I got him situated, then went off for my hair appointment.
For years, I've believed I had to fight against my hair's natural Indian-straight characteristics and that I needed height on top. Well, Eileen, my new guru, cut it in a short bob and it looks great. She also colored it slightly lighter than I usually do, and added blondish streaks. It was pricey, and she said we had to "work with" the fact other hairdressers had layered it, but I like it a lot. After dinner, called Ellen on the web cam so she could see it and she emphatically agreed it looks great. The salon is all the way over in Linwood, about 45 minutes away, but I can live with that and will go every six weeks. The real test, of course, is to see if I can restore it after I wash it, but right now, I'm thrilled over it.
Wider: On AntiWar.Com, Joe Calloway has a strong, well-reasoned piece called "A Lesson From Vietnam For Obama's War in Afghanistan." He describes the men--mostly men--from privileged backgrounds and Ivy League colleges who advise presidents:
"Presidents right up to today’s like to surround themselves with such self-assured and certain men, men whose eagerness to find war the answer to most problems often grows in direct proportion to their lack of experience in uniform or combat."
Galloway outlines the steps that could have been followed to end or shorten the war in Vietnam--but weren't--then writes:
"This small history lesson can be read as a cautionary tale to President Barack Obama’s team as they oversee an excruciating slow-motion end of one war, Iraq, and a pell-mell rush to wade ever deeper into another one in the mountains and deserts of remote and tribal Afghanistan."
But do our leaders ever learn from history and decide to lay down their swords? Hey, here are more questions: What was the Vietnam war all about? Why did more than 58,000 Americans and countless other humans die?
And the best question, from a song, no less, that I'm afraid will never be answered: When will we ever learn?

Enjoyed several hours of glorious free time yesterday. A. took Pat to the primary doctor at the V.A. and I took a shower, then simply sat in the living room and read my book. It was so refreshing.
Walter came over to fix the garage door, which keeps going up again when it's closed. Unfortunately, it isn't fixed. Ray came over to look at it and gave me the name of the company that replaced his. Then Dennis came over and, having had experience, said he thought the motherboard (or whatever) needs to be replaced. All agreed the mechanism doesn't last long and is pretty much a crappy one. Okay, I'll look into replacement.
Went with Frank to the production meeting for Hedda Gabler; Frank is "producer." Agreed to help with various things and enjoyed being back in the game, although I'm still licking my wounds after not getting the aunt role for which I auditioned.
Scary happening early this morning. A little before 2:00 am, I was awakened by Pat thrashing around and making puffing sounds. Got up and he wasn't responsive. Quickly poured him orange juice with sugar in it, but couldn't get him to sit up to drink it. Put more in a squeeze bottle and he was able to drink that. Then made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which he ate and finally came out of the low blood sugar thing. Cleaned up and went back to bed.
What a life.