January 25th, 2000
So we went to Ottawa this past weekend to visit Dad. Truth be told, he is dying. His doctors said up to 3 months; I think we'd be lucky if it's 3 more weeks.
He does nothing but sleep or sit on the couch, coughing occasionally - the kind of cough that sounds like his remaining lung is going to come shooting out his mouth. He looks 90 years old, gaunt and tired. His body has betrayed him and is robbing the active mind and soul of the man any opportunity to enjoy (for want of a better word) the limited time that remains.
It was an odd feeling, sitting there with him, not really conversing but simply being in each others company. I can't say it was uncomfortable, just odd. We said we'll come up to visit again in a couple of weeks. I just don't know if the visit will be at his home or a funeral home.
I can't say that I'm a huge fan of being on a death-watch.
The weather was blisteringly cold in Ottawa over the weekend, with a nasty windchill to boot. Lisa and I took Dad's dog Tully (a big ol' Golden Retriever) out for his daily walk on Saturday morning. Despite our being bundled up from head to toe and all points in between, by the time we made it back to the house after 20 minutes of outside we were both chilled to the bone. As we walked past the racetrack that is near my Dad's home, we saw harness racers out, exercising their horses around the course. We both thought the drivers were insane, running their charges in -30C weather.
Our upstairs neighbours, who live on the top floor and thus have no one above them, have no concept of how much sound travels vertically down in our building. They haven't put any carpeting or area rugs down on the hardwood floor, yet insist on wearing their shoes throughout their entire apartment, including the bathroom and bedrooms. One of the 2 girls and her boyfriend have been on a couple of occasions rather boisterous in their, um, coupling. They need to put some padding between whatever piece of furniture that is doubling as their love nest and the wall behind it. I swear they're going for some sort of world record for endurance. You'd swear they were trying to build furniture up there, with how loud the nailing was. I've heard of titanium shafts before, but this is ridiculous.
If only we could wander upstairs, tap on the door and politely request them to get a room somewhere, preferably soundproof. I was tempted last night, while they were working on their living room sofa as we were trying to eat supper while watching Frasier, to go down to the building front door and lay on the intercom buzzer. We also discussed the possibility of recording their noisemaking and playing it back for them so they know just how loud they are. In all honesty, I'm sure that if they knew how incredibly noisy they are on a day to lay basis that they would be embarrased and likely take measures to muffle themselves.
They could also learn to not let the auto-close apartment door slam shut every time they pass through. That echoes and vibrates in the other 10 apartments, I'm sure.