Nobody needs to stand around in triple-digit heat listening to a crowd of Southern Baptist pastors.

It’s 9:42 a.m., Saturday, June 30, and Sam should almost be downtown by now for the Families Belong Together rally. Sam and I aren’t the children of immigrants — but our parents were — and I can’t imagine what life would have been like for our families if America hadn’t opened her arms at the beginning of the 20th century. My father’s parents came from Russia, and mom’s came from Hungary and Romania … all of them were Jews escaping persecution and fleeing to the only country on earth that would welcome them. And nothing has changed in 2018. Refugees still come to America hoping to escape persecution, get an education and build a successful life, except now that door has been slammed shut in their faces by the swollen orange baboon in the White House. I’m proud that Sam is making his voice heard today.

As much as I enjoy “bath time,” Sam and I are putting my hospice through the wringer right now.

It’s Friday morning, 9:15 a.m., and it’s Sam’s birthday! To celebrate, he’s in the study making phone calls (we’re attempting to change electric providers) and I’m on the chaise lounge in the family room eating a couple of Popsicles and watching Funny Girl (1965) starring Barbra Streisand. I’m also waiting for my hospice C.N.A. to come over at 10 for my final professional bath of the week. She does a very good job — every Monday, Wednesday and Friday — and I look very clean and shiny afterwards except for the spots that she dusts with Nystatin powder. She also covers my shins and feet with AmLactin cream because otherwise I’ll look like an alligator.

Please forget about the Alamo for a while because nobody needs to do any stupid sightseeing in triple-digit heat.

I regret to announce that yours truly is severely under the weather right now, although the story actually began last night. Around midnight I didn’t feel well, I was shivering, and Sam took my temperature. It was extremely low (94°) … and that’s typically a precursor to a high fever within a couple of hours. In the past I’d usually wind up unresponsive in an ambulance on my way to the closest emergency room, but last night the high fever never materialized. I got lucky. I took Tylenol, 20mg of Norco, bundled myself up on the chaise lounge and Sam turned up my oxygen generator to the highest setting.

I wonder if they’ll ever find a starving family in Dallas that wants half-gallon jars of hot Chicago-style giardiniera.

Shalom and howdy! I woke up exceptionally early today (before 7 a.m.) following a shitty, shitty night with a migraine and nausea that started around 1:30 in the morning. Sam sat up with me in the family room because somebody had to listen to me moan and hold the bowl, right? (I think he eventually just fell asleep on the sofa.)

If you dislike descriptive prose about bowel movements, please feel free to skip the following paragraph.

I’ve had quite a day so far, dear readers. It’s currently 2:25 p.m., Sam is conked out on the sofa and I’m watching the original Ghostbusters (1984) starring Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd and Sigourney Weaver. (It’s almost over. The Stay-Puft marshmallow man just blew up.) We’re enjoying a one-month free trial from Netflix. Yee-haw.

Incidentally, if you dislike descriptive prose about bowel movements please feel free to skip the following paragraph.

Sam is my full-time caregiver, and he deserves as many Dairy Queen blizzards as he can get.

Woo-hoo … Sam and I are trying SOMETHING NEW today! Instead of waiting until late afternoon (around 5 p.m.) for me to get up off the chaise and use my computer, I’m giving it a shot around 10 a.m. instead … which is the time I used to migrate into the study in years past. It was Sam who suggested this, actually, because he has more energy in the morning to shlep things around in the family room, crawl on the floor to relocate my catheter bag and scoot under the desk to plug in my computer and lamp. It’s definitely a lot of work. He’s my full-time caregiver and he deserves as many breaks — and Dairy Queen blizzards! — as he can get.

We have remotes for all the lamps in the family room. I don’t have to move a muscle to turn them on or off.

It’s Sunday, 1:45 a.m., I’m wide awake and Sam is in bed. To tell you the truth, though, I’d conk out in a flash if I powered down my MacBook and turned out the lights in the family room. I’m awake but I’m definitely sleepy, and I just ate the last two Popsicles. Sam promised to buy more at Wal-Mart this morning.

Vienna Sausages with a squirt of Grey Poupon mustard. This is an excellent lunch for me.

Top o’ the mornin’, everybody, and a happy Saturday to you and yours! It’s 4 a.m. and I’ve been wide awake for almost an hour already. Except all of a sudden I’m feeling frustrated and tongue-tied because I don’t know what the fuck to write about my black insulin bag, and I can’t believe it’s taking such a ridiculous number of words to explain this. Jesus.

Catheter Day was a fabulous success. Thank you for putting up with me.

We’ve got another blistering-hot summer day in Texas. My hospice C.N.A. was here a few minutes ago — it’s bathing and hygiene day at Howdygram headquarters — and she said the forecast calls for a high of 105° today. HOLY CRAP. That’s considered extremely hot for Texas … especially since it’s only June and we still have several months of summer weather ahead of us. And I’m even including September, which is usually just as hot as August!

I’d offer to live-blog my Foley experience today but I’m not sure that would work out very well.

Hi, everybody. It’s high noon on a hot and steamy Thursday in Texas, the temperature outside is already 93° on its way to an expected high of 97°. Oy, that’s HOT. I’m definitely glad I don’t have to be outside on days like this, when your car feels like an oven after 15 minutes in a parking lot. And it’s still only June here … imagine what August will feel like! (We’ll be in the triple-digits a week from now, and probably every week thereafter.)

Sam and I can’t discuss this terrifying immigration disaster. Will America ever recover?

Good morning, people. Rise and shine! It’s the “crack” of 9:30 a.m., I’m waiting for my hospice C.N.A. to stop by for bathing and hygiene activities, and Sam is flitting around the house emptying trash cans, doing laundry, cleaning things and being adorable. (I think I should have mentioned “being adorable” first … but he already knows that.)

Guess who’s getting a new catheter on Thursday.

Shalom, yo and howdy-do from Howdygram headquarters. This will most likely be a brief post, owin’ to the fact that I haven’t got a whole lot to say. And also because Sam has been withdrawn and non-communicative for most of the day and evening. He’s actually scaring me a little, to tell you the truth. I know most of his mood is based on America’s terrifying new immigration nightmare ... and quite honestly, I’m feeling the emotional strain, too.

When you’re a housebound senior citizen, thunderstorms are like free entertainment with a floor show.

Another hot and sticky summer day in Texas! We’re expecting a high of 93° here in the Dallas area with thunderstorms rolling in late this afternoon … and more of the same on Tuesday and Wednesday. Woo-hoo! When you’re a housebound senior citizen, thunderstorms are like free entertainment with a floor show.

This absolutely can’t be Chef Boyardee’s best work.

Yo, everybody, and happy late Sunday night to you and yours! This has been a slow, lingering day that included: 1) several back-to-back naps; 2) a few nice movies; 3) practically no food; 4) two Popsicles; and 5) I still love my Morphine. In case you’re interested, item #3 was a can of Chef Boyardee Spaghetti and Meatballs. You know what? This turned out to be a huge disappointment … some inch-long noodles floating in runny red sauce with three tasteless meatballs. Meh. This absolutely can’t be Chef Boyardee’s best work.

Whether you’re planning a big backyard hoo-hah or just a remembrance, Happy Father’s Day.

It’s Father’s Day today, and although all of you are probably planning something unique to celebrate this holiday with your dad, mine will simply involve remembering, because my dad (Herbie) passed away in July 2002. That’s already 16 years ago! (Oy.) And my sweet father-in-law, Ben, died in 2009.