Am going in circles on the credit card fraud. The agency fired the attendant on Monday (she denied everything and said it was a mystery to her how her phone bill got paid on my father's card). But they need me to provide a police department case number. The credit card company needs one as well. But the NYPD won't open a case number without an affidavit from the credit card company and a statement in writing from the agency. A perfect Catch-22. Late today the credit card company offered to work directly with the police, and I think I'll take them up on that.
Meanwhile, something heartening for a change... an article in this morning's New York Times about hospice chaplaincy that included this:
The chaplains listen, mainly; and sometimes, like jazz musicians, pick up themes and try to bring them to new levels.
“I talked to my mother yesterday,” said Robert, an 83-year-old man with Alzheimer's whose mother died in the 1960s.
“How was she?” said the chaplain, Tom Grannell. “You haven’t talked to her in a while.”
“Pretty good,” said Robert. “She agrees with my father: I’m laying here too long. Time to get back to work.”
“Your mother always believed in you,” said the chaplain.
“Yes, she did,” said Robert.
Now, that's how it should be done. As opposed to what my current crop of attendants would come up with: "Your mother's dead!" Or maybe, "Shut up!"
Which means, I guess, that highly trained chaplains are more skillful than untrained housemaids.
Yes, I know. Stop press.
But good news is in short supply and when I find it, I'll take it, and even pass it along.
Uptown, now, to see how things are.
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