Titles, Inc.

Home Sweet Home

I came home.

I was going bonkers at the rehab with nothing to do. I couldn't hear the TV well enough, and unbelievably the closed caption words spun faster than I could follow. Art brought me "good books" but they demanded attention and I wasn't interested in focusing. His stack of New Yorker magazines worked best. The articles were the right length for a small bite at a time. I found myself sleeping nearly all day in my wheelchair and especially in the over-stuffed armchair, waking for meals. I did a lot of staring at the ceiling.

"Hey," I thought, "I can do this at home." And, at the house, I could have physical therapy and occupational therapy to make the right arm and right leg more functional.

So here I am either in the wheelchair or wobbly on the walker, or in an armchair. However I need someone guarding me as I walk up and down the stairs which still feels like an Olympic Event. I am not sleeping during the day. Oh, dozing off a bit. Art gets little attention from his archivist, Erica, who is busily at my beck and call, as basic as putting my meals on the table. When Erica's not here, Art is my hand-maiden. He just hooked up my bra.

I hate not being independent. Only now do I understand the sorry plight of the handicapped. And I am relatively healthy. Just some broken bones. As someone unkindly reminded me, "You don't heal as fast when you're an older person." Well, thanks a lot.

Anyway, it is great to be home.

---Florence

Credit Card Thief

Oh darn! I even had my attire picked out for my day in court. From my very limited wardrobe, here still at rehab, I chose a black-and-white patterned tee and a black sweater for the appearance of sincerity.

I rehearsed my role. The DA asks: "Did you give your credit card to this person? She tells me you gave it to her.” And I, outraged, reply: "No, never. I never give my credit card to anybody ever except to immediate family to buy something for me or to offer them lunch on me and even then they usually order Chinese carry-out, and anyone who says I gave her my card is a dirty, rotten, stinkin' liar."

Whereupon opposing counsel hollers, "Objection! 'No' will do." And I answer, contrite, "No."

Art called the DA's office because they hadn't got back to us with a time and place other than the Court House in Waukegan, an hour's drive away. And the DA told him, "We don't need you anymore. She'll be pleading guilty.”

What about her nursing license? I phoned the detective who nailed her. It's murky. She won’t be sentenced for many weeks. Because this is her only arrest and she is a single, unwed mother with several children, she might get weekends in jail. The police can't pull her nurse’s aide license. That's up to the agency that issued it. With an arrest on her record it's their decision whether she keeps her nursing license.

The detective agrees: we don't know that it's her first offense - we know that it's the first time she has been caught.

---Florence