A note to you worrywarts: It appears that the last post struck a cord. Melissa and Jennifer mentioned that flitting sense of worry which is so distressing until you can figure out what it’s about … then it’s distressing because you figured it out. Tina and Katie used the term metaworry which was new to me. It appears to mean “worry about worry.”

As my sister says, metaworry probably wasn’t a big issue back when we all had to concern ourselves about bringing down dinner with a club, and whether there would be a cave over our heads for the night, and whether Urg finally learned the missionary position because, damn, these rocks are hard on your knees. I guess metaworry is the downside of evolution.

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A note about Charlie: Due to your concern and suggestions — and for making me feel like a steaming pile of owl shit for considering dropkicking a dachshund into Puget Sound — I am making a renewed effort to civilize the beast within. This is not a new battle; hell, I adopted him two years ago. But you have offered some new things to try. So I doff my verbal hat to you, and will let you know how it goes in the days to come.

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Laughs at the home: As you know, the Mister is in a nursing home convalescent center. This is a subject I’m sneaking up on a little at a time. It’s the best I can do. You might think there is very little to find entertaining about such places, and you would be right. But it is there if you look for it.

The other day I was ambling on back to his room. This means passing the activity center which is just a wide spot in the hall. Between activities such as bingo and sitercise (honest to God, the first time I heard someone announce sitercise on the P.A. system, I thought they said “It’s time for suicide“), the TV is tuned to something benigh like, oh, Food Network or ESPN.

On this particular day, it was on Animal Planet. Normally there would be a nice wildlife film or sheepdog trials, and I am sure that was true at the moment the channel was chosen by an overworked aide. But when I passed by, the wheelchairs and their residents were parked in front of Animal Rescue so everyone could view abused puppies, cocks saved from fights, and kitties caught in drainpipes. Soothing entertainment for the oldsters, right? If you can’t trust Animal Planet, who can you trust?

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Speaking of TV: I am glad American Idol is back so I can belittle my fellow man and woman. I think that may have been the twelve worst performances of all time last night. Can’t wait to make fun of the girls tonight.