Tant pis Peggy
Oct. 16th, 2003 11:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jawnbcWell Atwood didn't winner the Booker again, nor the Nobel Prize for Literature. But hopefully she'll publish another book before she dies: dead people don't get Nobel's for Lit. Which is why James Joyce never got one.
I find it interesting that no Canuck's ever won a Nobel for Literature. If Our Peggy doesnt' get it, perhaps Ondaatje will? Though I've not read him (couldn't get into The English Patient). Or maybe Alice Munro, arguably the best short storyist writing in English today. Ché pas
Post-NY there was some drama. The day after my return to Hongcouver, Ma called saying "Nanny's had a heart attack, that's awl we know, I'll cawl you later." The sucky part was I was just about to start teaching, and had to wait 3 hours before I got an update. Turns our her mediocre GP either misread or misutilized the EKG. She been in congestive heart failure for months, but her lethargy was ultimately attributed to her sleeping pill prescription. Being ould skool Oirish, Nanny presumed that when a physician prescribes a sleeping pill it is to be taken every night. But her 96 year-old metabolism wasn't processing the prescription adequately--hence stumbling, sleeping 16 hours a day and feeling depressed.
She was over-medicated. Meh. But now she's home and already feeling better. Had she died, it would've been OK--she's had a long and full life (8 kids, 18 grand kids, 28 great-grand kids) and we did get to connect a bit this past weekend. Sad as I will be at her death, we've had her for a long time, and it's only been the last year or two she's not been her fiery, nurturing self. Extraordinary in every way. Most people don't ever get the relationship we (her grand kids especially) have after living with her every summer for 20 years or so. Blessed, truly blessed.
This time tomorrow night I'll be over the Pacific, jetting towards Sydney and my man![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
querrelle. Has it really been 7 weeks already?
I find it interesting that no Canuck's ever won a Nobel for Literature. If Our Peggy doesnt' get it, perhaps Ondaatje will? Though I've not read him (couldn't get into The English Patient). Or maybe Alice Munro, arguably the best short storyist writing in English today. Ché pas
Post-NY there was some drama. The day after my return to Hongcouver, Ma called saying "Nanny's had a heart attack, that's awl we know, I'll cawl you later." The sucky part was I was just about to start teaching, and had to wait 3 hours before I got an update. Turns our her mediocre GP either misread or misutilized the EKG. She been in congestive heart failure for months, but her lethargy was ultimately attributed to her sleeping pill prescription. Being ould skool Oirish, Nanny presumed that when a physician prescribes a sleeping pill it is to be taken every night. But her 96 year-old metabolism wasn't processing the prescription adequately--hence stumbling, sleeping 16 hours a day and feeling depressed.
She was over-medicated. Meh. But now she's home and already feeling better. Had she died, it would've been OK--she's had a long and full life (8 kids, 18 grand kids, 28 great-grand kids) and we did get to connect a bit this past weekend. Sad as I will be at her death, we've had her for a long time, and it's only been the last year or two she's not been her fiery, nurturing self. Extraordinary in every way. Most people don't ever get the relationship we (her grand kids especially) have after living with her every summer for 20 years or so. Blessed, truly blessed.
This time tomorrow night I'll be over the Pacific, jetting towards Sydney and my man
querrelle. Has it really been 7 weeks already?
no subject
Date: 2003-10-16 11:58 pm (UTC)