A Certain Point of View: Writing, Film and Stuff

It's quiet in my writing nook here in what used to be our dining room. I'm waiting for my lunch (two Nathan's hot dogs and Pepperidge Farm buns) to be ready. I'm not usually a lunch person, but I've been up since 6:57 a.m. and I ate breakfast about an hour later, so I'm a bit hungry now. I'm also waiting for a phone call from the substitute home health aide; our regular HHA had to take care of some personal business and asked Nursing South for the day off.  The sub called at 9 this morning and said she'd be here around 1 or so this afternoon; it's now 1:44 p.m. and she has not called yet. Most annoying, I think, but substitute HHAs often say they'll be here at X hour and end up getting here at Y. Either they get delayed by their duties in other patients' houses or get lost on the way here...but it's always something with the people from Nursing South. Mom slept well last night. In fact, she slept 14 hours, with only one interrupti

The following column was first published in the Opinions page of  Catalyst  on March 6, 1986, the day after my 23rd birthday:   It's cold outside and darkness is setting in as I fidget on a hard concrete bench at the bus stop. I have done everything that I had to do today -- wrote my column, studied for tomorrow's test, called a few contacts for stories and all the other jobs on my list. Now I'm free.  Out there, somewhere, a bus is making its way through heavy traffic, depositing people here, picking up people there. Its course is not a straight line from point A to point B; it zig-zags all over the place. It will take 20 or 30 minutes to reach campus. If the traffic is heavy, perhaps longer.  I look around. There are 15, maybe 20, people sitting, standing, pacing back and forth. On a bench to my left, a pair of basketball players concentrates on their textbooks.  A wizened old woman, obviously neither student nor faculty -- her clothes seem almost as old as she is -- smok