Thursday, September 23, 2010.
It's been 4 days since I ruined my thumb on the cat food can lid. Sutures are due to come out in 4 more days. I have nerve damage and zero gripping strength. The other 4 fingers are fine, and the thumb WANTS to help but fails, just sort of flops around. They covered my shifts at work, so I could just lay around and discover all the things I can't do without my left hand:
My normal hairdo is a mess of spiked clumps (because nobody can tell if it's intentional or not), requires a styling product named "Got2BGlued". Requires 2 hands to smear it in and spike it.
Crocheting is out.
Lighting the stove in our RV. Need two thumbs to work the lighter thing AND turn the stove knob.
Socks. Bra hooks. Flossing. Panties. Jeans! The button-zipper-thing. Opening potato chip bags. Opening anything.
Sorry. I've been wallowing in my own pity party for 4 days. Also, recently have had something go awry with my right eye, presumably optic nerve damage from my Ramsay-Hunt-Syndrome. Went to eye doctor and my new prescription glasses are due in Friday. Sure hope it helps, I have problems reading, watching TV, and driving, all of which necessitate closing my right eye. I now qualify for Handicap parking, though...
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
Look what I did!
Sunday morning, 3 AM (I told you I wake up early) my cat began his usual crying to be fed. Even before I started the coffee, I got out a can of cat food and pulled the tab to open it. It was sort of stiff, and my arthritic hands fumbled it, and VOILA! The edge of the lid sliced into my left thumb down to the bone, a neat 3 corner flap.
So much blood! Squirting, running, dripping, and so painful! Took me about 40 minutes to stop the bleeding with firm pressure and 1/2 a roll of paper towels. With the cat yowling the whole time, because he knew there was a can of food up there and didn't get fed yet.
I wrapped it tightly and waited for Ron to wake up. Even the slightest movement of the thumb joint sent burning zingers of pain up my arm: I knew some nerves at least had gotten cut. It amazed me how helpless I was with only one hand. Takes a lot longer to make coffee one-handed, and when I had to pee, it took forever to get my PJ pants back up.
After Ron got up, we debated how best to get my thumb tended to on a Sunday. I thought I'd have to go to the VA in Minneapolis, as the local ER's and Urgent Cares always cost an arm and a leg. I found a phone number for my St. Cloud VA Nurse triage line, said it's available 24/7, so I called it. Had to hold 25 minutes, but she answered and said the VA Clinic in St. Cloud would see me as soon as I got there! I told her the web site says they're closed on Sunday. She replied, "Yes, we don't tell anyone they're there."
Didn't get home til 4 PM. 4 sutures, very deep, and it DID cut nerves, but the doctor who sewed it up said he thought the tendons were intact. Plus a tetanus shot, so the other arm hurts, too.
So the thumb doesn't work very well. Zero gripping strength, still very painful. I have to call work today and find out if I'm able to do the job, which requires a couple hundred handwashings and glove changes daily, not to mention being able to pull a cap off a needle, or insert a spike in a bag: things I have trouble with WITHOUT this owie. Oy.Monday, September 6, 2010
The Onion Cutter
MPR has a story today about how summer jobs shape your future. I wanted to share how MY summer job history has impacted my life, as I believe a wide variety of summer jobs are necessary to discover what you DON'T want to do the rest of your life.
My first job was Dairy Queen, at 15 years old and 85 cents/hr, slightly higher than the 50 cents/hr that babysitting paid. They let us eat free, anything we wanted, and to this day I can't eat that stuff. I learned Customer Service there, apparently a lost art now, and that busloads of Little Leaguers wanting root beer floats are bad. They take a long time to make, because you have to wait for the foam to subside. I served pro wrestlers Mad Dog Vachon and Vern Gagne. Mad Dog had a normal, even high voice. And I learned for the first time about pain, when I walked out of the back room with my arms piled high with hamburger buns. Someone had just changed the french fry oil and left the vat sitting in the middle of the floor, where I knocked it over. It splashed my (pantyhose-clad) legs. While waiting for the ambulance, I tried to pull up my wrinkled pantyhose, but it was my skin that was puddled around my ankles. The pantyhose was fused to it. So I got to learn about burn units, the daily bath where they debride the dead stuff, morphine, and grafting. To this day, I have the lowest pain tolerance of anyone I know.
Once healed, I answered an ad to "Prepare Produce" for Burger King. Heck, I can do that, I thought! Turned out I chopped onions for 8 hours a day. Paid $2.50/hour, a fortune! Occasionally we got lettuce to do, some of which was sort of liquidy, but mostly onions. And I didn't really chop the onions, I cored and peeled them and threw them in the chopper. Speed was imperative After the first two hours, I've never cried again when cutting onions. It required two shampoos to get the smell out of my hair and skin, despite the protective garments. Once I had a photo shoot after work for the Miss Robbinsdale Pageant. As there wouldn't be time for two showers after work, I wore rollers all day, swathed with saran wrap and a turban. It didn't work, the photographer's eyes were streaming. I learned that summer about Trucker Humor (truckers in and out all day loading deliveries for Burger Kings) and about good music. We had the radio on LOUD, and to this day whenever I hear "Lay Lady Lay", I smell onions. But I don't eat at Burger King: memories of that liquidy lettuce...
My next job came courtesy of my Dad. He managed Kinney Shoes in Robbinsdale, and said I could work on commission. Selling shoes taught me to listen to what the customers want, and then sell them something they didn't know they wanted. It paid LOTS better than Dairy Queen, even more than Burger King, and I developed a love for shoes that's ridiculous, per my husband. At 16 years old, I was finally permitted to wear something besides saddle shoes, thus my salary went mostly for shoes. (Still does!) And I would return to work at Kinney's whenever I needed to, all through high school.
But in an attempt to cut the apron strings and get a job sans nepotism, I then worked at JC Penny's Brookdale as a Float, any department that was short-handed. My favorite was Fabric, where I got to sew all day. I assembled a lot of bicycles during the holidays. I hated Infants Wear, but loved Hardware, lots of men there! I also liked Gift Wrap, and quite often they used me in Shoes, said I was a natural...
While I was in nursing school, I worked as a nurse's aide at Crystal Lake Nursing Home. I loved those gentle old souls. THE major job focus was preventing bedsores: turning, padding, activity, movement. Most of the job was drudgery involving excreta, but there were highlights. Staff wheelchair races, where I broke my ankle during a crash. The bat in the dining room, and me with a trash bag on my head swinging a tennis racket. One Thanksgiving, I watched one sad woman all dressed up in the lobby waiting for her daughter who never showed up. She only lived there because she was incontinent, she didn't even have dementia. I took her home with me to Mom's for Thanksgiving dinner, where she described the Pearl Harbor attack in vivid detail (she was a nurse there), then peed on the dining room chair. I developed a monumental enduring love for the elderly: what they've seen and experienced, what they know. And learned how to raise children so they'll want to come get you on Thanksgiving.
My dad's quotes are a firm part of my family lore. There's no forgetting the Romantic Restaurant Indictment "It's so dark in here you can't tell if you're eating rats or roaches." The Over Eater's Creed "Waste Not, Want Not", or the one that taught me to choose my battles: "What's it gonna matter in a hundred years?" But the JOB one has had the most impact:
"Your life work should be the one career that makes you feel LUCKY to get to do that all day the rest of your life."
No, I never found that career, but have maybe ingrained that nugget in my son, who's close to finishing his Master's in digging-up-really-old-but-cool-stuff. How lucky is that!
My first job was Dairy Queen, at 15 years old and 85 cents/hr, slightly higher than the 50 cents/hr that babysitting paid. They let us eat free, anything we wanted, and to this day I can't eat that stuff. I learned Customer Service there, apparently a lost art now, and that busloads of Little Leaguers wanting root beer floats are bad. They take a long time to make, because you have to wait for the foam to subside. I served pro wrestlers Mad Dog Vachon and Vern Gagne. Mad Dog had a normal, even high voice. And I learned for the first time about pain, when I walked out of the back room with my arms piled high with hamburger buns. Someone had just changed the french fry oil and left the vat sitting in the middle of the floor, where I knocked it over. It splashed my (pantyhose-clad) legs. While waiting for the ambulance, I tried to pull up my wrinkled pantyhose, but it was my skin that was puddled around my ankles. The pantyhose was fused to it. So I got to learn about burn units, the daily bath where they debride the dead stuff, morphine, and grafting. To this day, I have the lowest pain tolerance of anyone I know.
Once healed, I answered an ad to "Prepare Produce" for Burger King. Heck, I can do that, I thought! Turned out I chopped onions for 8 hours a day. Paid $2.50/hour, a fortune! Occasionally we got lettuce to do, some of which was sort of liquidy, but mostly onions. And I didn't really chop the onions, I cored and peeled them and threw them in the chopper. Speed was imperative After the first two hours, I've never cried again when cutting onions. It required two shampoos to get the smell out of my hair and skin, despite the protective garments. Once I had a photo shoot after work for the Miss Robbinsdale Pageant. As there wouldn't be time for two showers after work, I wore rollers all day, swathed with saran wrap and a turban. It didn't work, the photographer's eyes were streaming. I learned that summer about Trucker Humor (truckers in and out all day loading deliveries for Burger Kings) and about good music. We had the radio on LOUD, and to this day whenever I hear "Lay Lady Lay", I smell onions. But I don't eat at Burger King: memories of that liquidy lettuce...
My next job came courtesy of my Dad. He managed Kinney Shoes in Robbinsdale, and said I could work on commission. Selling shoes taught me to listen to what the customers want, and then sell them something they didn't know they wanted. It paid LOTS better than Dairy Queen, even more than Burger King, and I developed a love for shoes that's ridiculous, per my husband. At 16 years old, I was finally permitted to wear something besides saddle shoes, thus my salary went mostly for shoes. (Still does!) And I would return to work at Kinney's whenever I needed to, all through high school.
 |
| Jim Frame |
But in an attempt to cut the apron strings and get a job sans nepotism, I then worked at JC Penny's Brookdale as a Float, any department that was short-handed. My favorite was Fabric, where I got to sew all day. I assembled a lot of bicycles during the holidays. I hated Infants Wear, but loved Hardware, lots of men there! I also liked Gift Wrap, and quite often they used me in Shoes, said I was a natural...
While I was in nursing school, I worked as a nurse's aide at Crystal Lake Nursing Home. I loved those gentle old souls. THE major job focus was preventing bedsores: turning, padding, activity, movement. Most of the job was drudgery involving excreta, but there were highlights. Staff wheelchair races, where I broke my ankle during a crash. The bat in the dining room, and me with a trash bag on my head swinging a tennis racket. One Thanksgiving, I watched one sad woman all dressed up in the lobby waiting for her daughter who never showed up. She only lived there because she was incontinent, she didn't even have dementia. I took her home with me to Mom's for Thanksgiving dinner, where she described the Pearl Harbor attack in vivid detail (she was a nurse there), then peed on the dining room chair. I developed a monumental enduring love for the elderly: what they've seen and experienced, what they know. And learned how to raise children so they'll want to come get you on Thanksgiving.
My dad's quotes are a firm part of my family lore. There's no forgetting the Romantic Restaurant Indictment "It's so dark in here you can't tell if you're eating rats or roaches." The Over Eater's Creed "Waste Not, Want Not", or the one that taught me to choose my battles: "What's it gonna matter in a hundred years?" But the JOB one has had the most impact:
"Your life work should be the one career that makes you feel LUCKY to get to do that all day the rest of your life."
No, I never found that career, but have maybe ingrained that nugget in my son, who's close to finishing his Master's in digging-up-really-old-but-cool-stuff. How lucky is that!
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
ONE MORE MONTH!!! And other bits and bobs...
Mexico, here I come! Feels like a year since I left, and not a very good one at that. I've said it before: I don't know WHY people live in Minnesota. Worst weather anywhere.
My Create Crochet Team wants to know: What holiday am I most looking forward to and why?
Halloween. It will mean I'll be in Mexico. As a child, all holidays were miraculous: family, friends, food, festivities. As an adult? Not so much. Just some mess to clean up, not enough sleep, extra expenses, stress. And as a disinterested and ungifted cook, having to produce copious quantities of food for the masses has to rank right up there with root canals.
It's the ONE small area of discord in my love for our Mexico life. The Pot Luck. Pot Lucks occur at least weekly there. You gather a whole bunch of elderly white folks together and you get pot lucks. I have trouble enough producing meals for the two of us. We more or less just graze at home, whatever and whenever. To conceive and execute an edible entree that's ready at a specific time? Oy. We pass quite often. There are also very frequent Happy Hours, much easier, just snacky things. Take something out of a bag and top it with something out of another bag, or can or carton.
My last day of work is October 4th, then a week of packing/condensing. So yes, looking forward to Halloween, which follows Ron and the grandsons' hunting trip "Up North". Then on to Mexico.
Recent photos!
Dylan's hair, coming out of the tube slide at our RV Park playground. He starts Montessori school this week.
Dylan took this one with my camera. I think he's a natural behind the lens.
He took this, also, of Grampa Ron and Nora. Ron has a new smile, and a white beard.
Went to a Bon Voyage and Birthday party at Caprice and Donny's on Saturday. Linny's moving to Huntington Beach, CA to be a surfer. Max turned 19. Donny made Kebobs. See what I mean about the food? Kebobs, for chrissake. They were amazing!
Donny with his little boy Bryan.
The girls share some of Linny's give-a-ways.
This is Dexter, Max brought him home.
Today's my day off, awake at 2 AM, of course, thunderstorm and yowling cat. VA appointment today. Lots of those pending: in addition to the known issues (spot in lung, bleeding kidneys, hemorrhoid surgery, bayonets in the ear) I have cataracts in both eyes. I'm only 57.
So we're in the home stretch. Feels pretty good, mood is lightening daily.
My Create Crochet Team wants to know: What holiday am I most looking forward to and why?
Halloween. It will mean I'll be in Mexico. As a child, all holidays were miraculous: family, friends, food, festivities. As an adult? Not so much. Just some mess to clean up, not enough sleep, extra expenses, stress. And as a disinterested and ungifted cook, having to produce copious quantities of food for the masses has to rank right up there with root canals.
It's the ONE small area of discord in my love for our Mexico life. The Pot Luck. Pot Lucks occur at least weekly there. You gather a whole bunch of elderly white folks together and you get pot lucks. I have trouble enough producing meals for the two of us. We more or less just graze at home, whatever and whenever. To conceive and execute an edible entree that's ready at a specific time? Oy. We pass quite often. There are also very frequent Happy Hours, much easier, just snacky things. Take something out of a bag and top it with something out of another bag, or can or carton.
My last day of work is October 4th, then a week of packing/condensing. So yes, looking forward to Halloween, which follows Ron and the grandsons' hunting trip "Up North". Then on to Mexico.
Recent photos!
Today's my day off, awake at 2 AM, of course, thunderstorm and yowling cat. VA appointment today. Lots of those pending: in addition to the known issues (spot in lung, bleeding kidneys, hemorrhoid surgery, bayonets in the ear) I have cataracts in both eyes. I'm only 57.
So we're in the home stretch. Feels pretty good, mood is lightening daily.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
A Visit From An Old Friend
Oh my, I haven't written for over a month! No wonder, it's been a total zoo. Now that the work shifts are all 8 hours, I'm working 4-5 days/week. We've had the grandbabies for 2 or 3 days in a row a few times. (They wear me out, man!) I have weekly therapy appointments. (It seems I'm depressed.) AND, I had a visit from an old friend!
Kitzie (her sister couldn't pronounce Christine) and I met in kindergarten. We've been friends for 52 years. We lived in each other's homes in Omaha until I was 11,when my dad was transferred to Minneapolis. We don't talk often anymore, which is really SO sad in the age of technology. But in truth, I suppose we no longer have that much in common except for an idyllic early childhood. She and her husband are retired and VERY busy, as are we. It's pitiful that we seem to only see each other for funerals.
Kitzie wanted to see my mom again before she died. Mom has Alzheimer's, and doesn't know me from a lamp, but it meant a lot to Kitzie to see her. They drove up from Nebraska and checked into a nearby motel. I'd just gotten off work, and they came right over. All the intervening years melted away, it was 1960 again and I was happier than I've been in months!
Besides visiting Mom (who really did seem to know there was SOMEONE there to smile at!) we ate out (a lot!), barbequed, went to the Big Mall, the swap meet, sat and looked at the Mississippi River, and played with my grandbabies (and she's indefatigueable with children! She doesn't just push them on the swings, she tickles, pinches, etc. on every sweep!) She sat on a hard rock for 2 hours helping them throw rocks in the river.
River scene, my son with the hair, husband in lawn chair, and Kitzie still throwing rocks. Yes, that's the Mississippi River. It starts just a few hundred miles north, so is still nearly walk-across-able.
Kitzie (her sister couldn't pronounce Christine) and I met in kindergarten. We've been friends for 52 years. We lived in each other's homes in Omaha until I was 11,when my dad was transferred to Minneapolis. We don't talk often anymore, which is really SO sad in the age of technology. But in truth, I suppose we no longer have that much in common except for an idyllic early childhood. She and her husband are retired and VERY busy, as are we. It's pitiful that we seem to only see each other for funerals.
Kitzie wanted to see my mom again before she died. Mom has Alzheimer's, and doesn't know me from a lamp, but it meant a lot to Kitzie to see her. They drove up from Nebraska and checked into a nearby motel. I'd just gotten off work, and they came right over. All the intervening years melted away, it was 1960 again and I was happier than I've been in months!
Besides visiting Mom (who really did seem to know there was SOMEONE there to smile at!) we ate out (a lot!), barbequed, went to the Big Mall, the swap meet, sat and looked at the Mississippi River, and played with my grandbabies (and she's indefatigueable with children! She doesn't just push them on the swings, she tickles, pinches, etc. on every sweep!) She sat on a hard rock for 2 hours helping them throw rocks in the river.
Here's some photos: Click on them to enlarge.
My Kitzie
Throwing rocks
River scene, my son with the hair, husband in lawn chair, and Kitzie still throwing rocks. Yes, that's the Mississippi River. It starts just a few hundred miles north, so is still nearly walk-across-able.
Chef Jon
It seemed a big letdown when they left. I miss laughing, and I miss having someone I can tell anything to.
In other news, I'd been thinking for a long time I needed a tiny coffee table for in front of the couch for my drink, ashtray, smokes, book, and a place to put my glasses when I fall asleep. They don't make tiny coffee tables, though. Space in an RV is quite limited. I finally found a really old, primitive table at an antique store for 5 bucks. Whaddya think?
It does crowd us a bit more, but is SO useful. PLUS, my neighbor here at the park decided she needed MORE room and took out one of her chairs. I was eyeing it for the space where MY recliner used to be ("it's in Mexico", familiar refrain...) and one day after work, I found it in my RV! (My agoraphobic hubby does get along well with my single-woman-neighbors on each side of us...I suspect they have cocktails and eat bonbons in their lawn chairs all day long while I'm at work.) It looks great, huh? I just had a folding chair there before.
Yes, the trash can is obtrusive, but necessary. And this is where I sit most of the time:
I'm there right now, can't you see me?
Here are assorted family pics: Nora 2, Gramma's girl. Yes, my hairdresser scalped me, plus told me I'm now 80% white, 20% blond. Great...
Here are assorted family pics: Nora 2, Gramma's girl. Yes, my hairdresser scalped me, plus told me I'm now 80% white, 20% blond. Great...
Nora with Grampa Ron
Dylan, 4
Friday, June 25, 2010
The Truth About RVing. For the most part.
I'm sitting here during a Minnesota summer thunderstorm, close to suppertime, wondering if the hail is denting our truck. Amazing view of the storm moving down the Mississippi River, which is only 10 feet from my steps. Beginning sometime last winter in Mexico, I resolved to start counting up "the good" more, an attempt to lighten my mood. And I DO find myself almost feeling sorry for people who have to live in houses. (Tornado sirens just went off...) So here's a start on my list of:
The Best Parts About Fulltime RVing
Location, location, location. No way could I afford a house with steps 10 feet from the Mississippi River. Or my view of the Sea of Cortez in Mexico. No reason in the world to put up with urban sprawl, street noise, (Oops, more sirens...) billboards, neon, or undesirable neighbors. We can move in under an hour. It's SUCH a pleasure to pull into our site after a rough day at work, grab a beer, and watch the orioles eating my grape jelly or bass moving in the shallows. Cool in summer, warm in winter. Beautiful. always.
Chores are VERY few. Takes a couple of minutes to sweep the floor, 10 max to clean the kitchen. We're sort of forced to pick up after ourselves due to the small size of our living quarters, where 2 pair of shoes on the floor WILL trip you up. No lawn mowing or snow shoveling. (Big wall cloud moving toward us, with rotation...) This translates to lots more leisure time than the folks who own sticks and bricks.
Fewer possessions means freedom. (Someone's awning just blew past my window...) In the beginning, I had some trouble with this concept. I owned 150 pairs of shoes, a gazillion books, tchotchkes galore, and had to give it all up. Now I have FAVORITES only. And a self-made rule: Buy One Throw One. After I'm gone, my son will NOT have to sort through 80 years of accumulated STUFF like I had to. He'll have a stocked RV!
One bouquet of purloined lilacs perfumes the whole RV, instantly erasing the fried walleye odor. (Some of the campers are running to the storm shelter now...)
Windows! There's more glass than walls. Guess this goes under Location, but it's more than the view. It feels lighter, open, less restricted despite the small square footage. (An elm tree just took out someone's screen house gazebo thing...)
Oooh! The rain stopped! Real quiet outside...Kinda green hue to the air, though...
There's really only one or two things I miss: my laundry room foremost. I really hate the laundromat thing. I wish I could have 2 or 3 different kinds of ice cream in that tiny freezer. (That was apparently the EYE of the storm, it's much worse now...)
Companionship, camaraderie, closeness, call it what you will, but 2 people living 24/7 in 250 square feet tend to develop a finely honed knowledge of the other person. If one needs space, go outside. No secrets here. None. Read between the lines, and sit by the lilacs. (The TV shows a whole long string of these severe cells moving toward us...Time to get in the truck and go to WalMart. We're insured.)
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
A Minnesota Summer
Can't believe we've been here almost 3 months. It's going so fast! Half of me is glad, as I'm SO homesick for Mexico, but half feels like I won't be able to "fill up" enough on the grandkids to sustain me until I get back.
I'm not working very hard, just 3 days a week and most of those are only 8 hour shifts. About time. Those 15 hour days are Old-Nurse-Killers.
When I'm not working, I've been at the VA a lot.They do a great job, I'm surprised and grateful to discover. So far, I've had 2 CT scans, a cystoscopy, multiple blood draws, surgery consult (hemorrhoids), and mental health workup for Alzheimer's testing and grief counseling. I begin the actual therapy this afternoon.
We've had enough rain. Stop now.
Jon's doing SO well as a single dad, with the assistance of Grampa Nay downstairs as resident Nanny. Yes, the divorce is final. The babies are happy, well-adjusted, and getting along together. Jon's summer job (some desk-computer-type) at the college is paying the bills and has been extended through the fall when he gets into his FINAL phase of his master's program.
I'm not working very hard, just 3 days a week and most of those are only 8 hour shifts. About time. Those 15 hour days are Old-Nurse-Killers.
When I'm not working, I've been at the VA a lot.They do a great job, I'm surprised and grateful to discover. So far, I've had 2 CT scans, a cystoscopy, multiple blood draws, surgery consult (hemorrhoids), and mental health workup for Alzheimer's testing and grief counseling. I begin the actual therapy this afternoon.
We've had enough rain. Stop now.
Jon's doing SO well as a single dad, with the assistance of Grampa Nay downstairs as resident Nanny. Yes, the divorce is final. The babies are happy, well-adjusted, and getting along together. Jon's summer job (some desk-computer-type) at the college is paying the bills and has been extended through the fall when he gets into his FINAL phase of his master's program.
Here are some Minnesota Summer photos. You can click on them to enlarge.
Nora and Dylan at Lake Mille Lacs, Photoshopped
Eli the Bike King
Dylan, family barbeque. Note Jon's ponytail in the background.
Dylan, Jon, Scotty, Beer, Mississippi River, Ron
Miss Nora, Beer
Grampa Brian, Beer, Scotty, Jon
Sienna, Aunt Julie, Gramma Joy, Beer
And I've been making lots of these. They're starting to sell. Buy them here:
Other than loving the grandbabies, VA appointments, crocheting booties, working, and drinking beer, there's not much else going on. Rocky's slowing down at 14, sleeps most of the time either in the recliner or a lawn chair. I'm starting to want another dog, but not a lab. I still get teary when I even see one on the street. Will report news if any occurs. Hope it doesn't, "news" ages me.
Rocky in his lawn chair.
Update! Turns out today wasn't therapy after all. It was dementia testing (requested by Ron, given my family history.) I have ZERO memory deficits. If I remember correctly...
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