When it rains, eh?

So it's about 9 thousand degrees outside today. My dad's working on a roof.
And apparently forgets to hook up the gatorade IV.
He calls the codger corral at about 4:00, informing us that he's cramping up REALLY badly, and generally freaking out.

This is the part where I should explain a few things.

1. My dad's working on a roof in a town about an hour away, the homeowners aren't there (it's a summer cottage thing). His helper isn't working with him today. Neither my mom and I know where exactly he's working, and don't have the phone number for the owners on us.

2. My father has worked outside during summers for at least 20 years. He knows he's supposed to drink Gatorade and/or take salt/calcium tablets, rest frequently, and all that crap.

3. We go through this at least once per summer.

Usually, when he cramps up so badly, he's in the county, or has someone with him. He perennially refuses to go to the hospital too. Last year, it was exceptionally bad, (turning grey, then bluish, and stuff) and my mom almost called an ambulance, but he wouldn't let her. This year, we had to calm him down, get him to lie down (his back was cramping) in his truck, with the AC on, and when he could move, go get some gatorade. He was able to make it home then, but that was a tad scary. He seems OK now, I hope this continues to cement for him that he is 1. getting too old for this shit, 2. taking unnecessary chances with his health.

For all my bitching, when he's in a decent mood, he's a good guy. And if he does something stupid and up and croaks on me, I'll be forced to follow him into whatever afterlife he's heading for, and kick his ever-loving ass.

On the more pleasant end, I was supposed to go to the codger corral and drive 2 residents to doctor visits, and ended up sticking around the rest of the day to help as "administrator lite". I also got to have tasty Vietnamese food, and hear stories from Head-Honcho-Bosslady's trip to Europe (her son was part of American Music Abroad, and she chaperoned), which was awesome.

Also, a short note-

Dear residents who have lived at the codger corral since the dawn of time-

If you moved in back when I was still a receptionist 4 years ago, chances are good that we don't have your photo in your file in the nursing office. And even though I know, and you know, that you're not demented, and won't wander away -necessitating a call to the state troopers- they're making me get your picture anyway. So do me a favor, sit there, look at me, and let me take your freaking picture. It's a polaroid camera. This picture will never be seen by anyone but the nurses, and maybe Trooper Billy. I don't care if you're getting your hair done Thursday, and you think I should come back then. I don't care if you don't want your picture taken. Even Sara, the Amish lady let me take her picture (though I did give her the option to refrain). Plus, you don't have a choice. So there.

One. Two. ThreeCLICK!

Sauce

And finally, Fat Elvis? Most pleasantly mannered cat I think I've ever been around. Doesn't much care for being picked up, and still doesn't like men, loud noises, or having his furballs snipped, he absolutely adores me, and the feeling? She is mutual. He loves being all over my lap while I'm on the computer, and will begin to purr the nanosecond I touch him. And he'll walk up to the other cats, all "Hi! I'm Fat Elvis, I want to be your friend!" even if they keep treating him like a leper.
I seriously LOVE this cat. (Of course, I love all the cats, but they're not so giving with the adoration. FE? All love, all the time. He best not get sick, squished, or run off.)