Have DME, will travel


It’s nice to vacation in an area where you know the locals. You get to learn where to go and what to avoid. You eat at the better restaurants and visit the best spots for kayaking or watching the sunset. Or the local dump.

That’s right. I helped Dad do the dump run on the last morning of my annual week on Cape Cod. All this really meant was that we gathered a dozen or so bags of trash from a rental cottage (in Maine, calling something a cottage rather than a camp brands you as “from away”) and tossed them at the town dump before the next renters arrived.

I did this because 1. Hey, it’s something new and 2. Dad is feeling a little mobility challenged these days so I took pity. Mom is moving a little slower too, but that hasn’t stopped her.

Since I promised not to write about the adventures of (standard, not raised) toilet seat installation (but, “it’s all your mother’s fault”), I won’t.

But let me tell you about my mom’s future travel toileting plans.

My brother and his wife recently built a house, which my parents will eventually see (and stay at, though I know they’d prefer their usual hotel). Turns out, the new house has a toilet that is really low to the ground (of course, my 5-foot tall sister-in-law is also really low to the ground). Unbeknownst to them, my mom has every intention of packing a raised toilet seat. This brings a smile to my face, envisioning what my brother will think. This is, of course, funnier if you know him.

Those baby boomers out there really do know what they want to make life a little easier.

So, I am back at my desk after a week in the sun and surf (and jellyfish—yuck). We’re shipping the September issue out the door and gearing up for the silly season: HME Business Summit, Medtrade, etc. I am not one of those fools who can’t wait to get back to work after a vacay but it’s a good thing I returned when I did as the staff at United Publications was apparently suffering a severe sugar shortage. They fell upon the saltwater taffy I brought back like a bunch of sticky preschoolers and inhaled the entire pound faster than you can say “back to work!”