It's handy to have a channel that plays music of all kinds, without frequent breaks for the news. As a dementia carer, I'd prefer music to stick in the mind rather than stories of wanton destruction.
Hell, I'd vote for that even if I weren't a dementia carer.
Did this return to that handy TV channel mean those old-school rumblings in the loft, to reconnect the aerial, were all for nothing?
Yes.
I bought in new equipment. It didn't work, and turned out to be scientifically and philosophically incompatible with the TV. The equipment went back, without fuss or bother.
Ignoring the fuss and bother I had in the loft.
Hey, any household maintenance experience is crucial household maintenance experience.
I'd resigned myself to sticking with a Country and Western channel for eternity.
That's a lie.
I'd resigned myself to passing through the room on routine checks, conducted between cheatin' songs and mah dawg died ditties.
There you go. Update. After messing around, trying to save a TV channel from oblivion, the channel heeded the call and returned to the kennel.
In other news, a visit to the dentist went well. An easy trip there, avoiding the rain, and an easy trip back. (Whisper it. We avoided the rain, coming back.)
Being in Scotland, in autumn, there's a mystical time featuring no rain. We booked it.
Hell, we even managed a bit of shopping. You couldn't tell she had dementia as she walked through familiar streets, talking about places, about the people who used to work here, there...
We finished the trip with singing, with laughter, and the promise of rain a minute after we shut the door and made ready for soup.
No comments:
Post a Comment