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One Last Post For The Day

Yesterday in the wet cold we Gals tried out a new walking venue (for some of us) over in Meadowmont, a high end Chapel Hill "planned community", (which I find slightly creepy. Brings to mind the movie "Pleasantville").

Been Getting Some Flack

about the music posted here lately.

What makes a song or music appealing to a person? Who knows.

For me it's often imagery. Chris Bathgate is kinda my new favorite singer/songwriter. He seems Southern to me, but he is a Midwesterner from Michigan.  His songs have a dark edge to them, but they are beautiful too. NPR said they are "dusky and deliberate". I like that.

"Poor Eliza" reminds me of Cold Mountain. No, wait. Outer Dark. Like Cormac McCarthy's writing, the song has a menacing tone.

Sometimes I like a song because it makes me laugh. Wish I could find the one I'm thinking of - the singer talks about his girlfriend leaving him like a kidney stone. Ouch!

Here's some [hopefully] not depressing stuff.

A sweet song about happenstance or serendipity:

Or this perky (and potential ear worm) song (any song where my kitchen might say - hang around baby,baby, I'll be baking a cake for you - is fun in my book):

This one by Mutemath is reminiscent of Earth, Wind and Fire with its funky beat and brass:

Happy now?

The State of Things

Thursday evening I met the hospice volunteer at CB, who can only come on weeknights or weekends - because she has a full time job. 
If you're thinking I had some guilt when she told me this - you are correct.

But seriously, it has to be easier when it isn't your parent shaking, drooling, and saying "hey!" every five seconds. A veritable walk in the f&*#ing park.

Anyway, the girl we'll call Erin was lovely. Mom seemed to like her, called her darling.
Erin asked what Mom liked to do. I was thinking she was pretty much looking at it [Mom sitting on the couch holding my hand]. She can't read anymore, but might enjoy being read to; not sure she tracks TV. There's no conversation to speak of. Unless you count "hey!".

Bought this at Whole Foods (not just for brisket anymore!) and brought it over:

It attaches to baby's crib and plays four different sounds, (heartbeat, rain, ocean, and whale song), to help sleep. Mom used to have a bunch of those type of CD's and I thought it might be soothing.

She asked if it was dead. (Eyes closed?) 
When the ocean sound was played for her she said, "Weather." (thought it was rain?)

She seemed restless, wanted to walk, then sit down, then walk. Her legs were swollen and hard as a rock. The tremor in her right hand is still there. She kept saying she was cold, but her hands were warm. I wonder if the shaking from the tremor makes her think she's cold.

During one of our little walkabouts, a tall gentleman was sitting in the dining room, (see The Supper Club), with his legs stretched out into the hallway. Mom said "I'm old!" as we came upon him. This is apparently elder code for "Hey, I'm walking here!", since he pulled his legs in.

Road sign in Newcastle, Northern Ireland

Mom said "Grandma" when we stopped by the finch cage in the entryway. I asked her if she was seeing dead people (because I'm a smart ass), she said no.

Granny did, in the last year. She wanted us to get dogs out of the room that weren't there and sometimes all sorts of dead folks - mothers, brothers - were hanging out with us. 
She also thought she was married to her doctor and my mother had had twins with someone other than my [dead] father.
Oh, and she had peach cobbler with President Bush right over there. 

I called the hospice nurse about Mom's legs and she sent this email:
Saw ______ today and spoke to Dr M. about the edema in her legs. There is definitely a fluid shift, but she also has an issue with hypostatic hypotension, which is when she stands up her b/p drops, then slowly resumes to normal. But because of this we hesitate to increase her Lasix as this can increase the drop in her b/p.
We can however shift the fluid back into her system by utilizing edema wraps. We will wrap her legs with kerlix (to assure they stay dry) and cover the kerlix with a layer of coban a self adhesive product similar to ace bandages except they mold to the pts legs and do not slip.
These will be changed 2 x week and as needed by hospice staff and the expense is incurred by hospice.
When the edema resolves we can try changing to TED hose but if they are not effective we will continue with the edema wrap indefinitely. The edema is related to her heart failure and may be an ongoing issue at this point.

So there you have it.


Purses, Flyleaf Books, and Other Stuff

I am making my own damn brisket right now instead of forking over a s&*%load of money to Whole Foods and my house smells oh my god so good.
Packet of onion soup mix, a bottle of ginger beer, cup of ketchup - pour over brisket, bake for 2 hours at 375, uncover and bake for another hour. I'll let you know.
I don't know what got me thinking about Mom's purse this week. The back when I was a kid purse.
Wasn't Mom's purse the best?
So dark and mysterious - full of anything you could need: Kleenex, band-aids, Fruit Stripe gum, a collapsible plastic cup/medicine holder (Mom's was a sort of marbilized mint green color), and
cigarettes - besides being useful for smoking and looking cool, when combined with spit would "pull the poison" out of a bee sting. Better livin' through tobacco!

There also lurked, in the depths of the purse, a vile evil thing. A thing that masqueraded as something good. A thing known as...Aspergum.

Aspergum was close to the size and shape of  Chiclets. In a clandestine guerrilla style purse search (hand in feeling around, while eyes were peeled for mother approach) - I would think I had gotten lucky. Until I bit into one of those disgusting things.
Mom used gross us out by chewing up aspirin tablets. I think my brother used to do that too. Egads.
She thought it served us right (me right) for stealing gum. Child abuse I say.

So Flyleaf Books. Wednesday evening I went with someone, who shall not be mentioned on account of the newly instated "no tagging" rule, to hear John Jeremiah Sullivan read from his collection of essays: Pulphead.
I don't normally do this sort of thing, but I had recently made the comment that I was not interested in anything. Which sounds either terribly boring or terribly stuck-up, and really isn't true.
Guess what? It turned out to be oddly fascinating, involving John Fahey and deciphering old, old, old blues songs.

ANYWAY, in walks this rather portly gentleman - and his jacket logo says "Think BIG".
No, I mean it.
Was he being ironic?
Still makes me chuckle.

Music's obvious choice tonight is John Fahey, from his "Of Rivers and Religion" LP: Steamboat Gwine Round Da Bend. My dad loved him some guitar playing, he owned this album.


Today (Again)

You know, sometime I just can't be bothered with thinking of some new and clever title. Sorry.

First - I have made it down into the next decade on the scale. Shut the front door! 18 pounds lost since I first dared to get on the scale again.

This is what I made for supper:

Turkey meatloaf muffins
Had a lovely day at WSM with the Gals, came home and cleaned (used my steam cleaner), washed clothes, cooked meatloaf and took out the recycling.
Now time for some Modern Family while enjoying some whipped cream for dessert.

If you enjoy personality tests (even though there's no science to them according to someone I know :), here's a good one Steffi sent me.
Can you guess what my number is?

Below is Dr.Phil's test. (Dr.  Phil scored  55, he did this test on Oprah and she got a  38.)  

Answers are for who you are  now and  not who you  were in the past.
This  is a  real test given by Human Relations Departments at many of
the  major corporations today. It helps them get better insight concerning their  employees and in their prospective employees.
There are 10 simple questions, so grab a pencil and paper. Record your
letter answers to each question.


1. When  do you feel  your  best...
A)   in the morning
B)   during  the afternoon and early evening
C)   late at night

2.   You usually walk...
A)    fairly fast, with long steps
B)    fairly fast, with little steps
C)    less fast head up, looking the world in the face
D)   less fast, head  down
E)   very slowly

3.  When  talking to  people you...
A)    stand with your arms folded
B)    have your hands clasped
C)    have one or both your hands on your   hips
D)   touch or push the person  to whom you are  talking
E)   play with your ear, touch your chin, or  smooth  your hair
 4.  When  relaxing,  you sit with..
A)   your  knees bent with your legs neatly side  by  side
B)   your legs  crossed
C)   your legs stretched  out or straight
D)   one leg curled  under you

5. When  something  really amuses you, you react  with...
A)   big appreciated laugh
B)   a laugh, but not a loud one
C)   a quiet chuckle
D)   a  sheepish smile

6.   When  you go to a  party or social gathering  you...
A)   make a loud entrance so everyone notices   you
B)   make a quiet entrance,  looking around for  someone you know
C)   make the quietest entrance, trying to stay   unnoticed

7.  You're  working  very hard, concentrating hard, and  you're

A)    welcome the break
B)    feel extremely irritated
C)    vary between these two extremes

8.   Which  of the  following colors do you like  most....
A)    Red or orange 
B)    black
C)   yellow or light blue
D)   green
E)    dark blue or purple
F)    white
G)   brown or gray

9.   When  you are in  bed at night, in those last few  moments  before
going to sleep you  are.....

A)    stretched out on your back
B)    stretched out face down on your   stomach
C)    on your side, slightly curled
D)    with your head on one arm
E)    with your head under the  covers

10.  You  often dream that you are...
A)    falling
B)    fighting or struggling
C)    searching for something or somebody
D)    flying or floating
E)    you usually have dreamless sleep
F)    your dreams are always pleasant


1.   (a) 2     (b)  4      (c) 6
2.   (a) 6     (b)  4     (c)  7     (d)   2   (e) 1
3.   (a) 4     (b)  2      (c)  5     (d) 7    (e)  6
4.   (a) 4     (b)  6      (c)  2     (d)  1
5.   (a) 6     (b)  4      (c)  3     (d)  5   (e) 2
6.   (a) 6     (b)  4     (c) 2
7.   (a) 6     (b)  2     (c)  4
8.   (a) 6     (b)  7      (c)  5     (d)  4    (e)  3    (f)  2   (g)  1
9.   (a) 7     (b)  6      (c)  4     (d)  2     (e ) 1
10  (a) 4     (b)   2     (c)  3     (d)  5      (e)  6    (f)   1

Now  add up the total number  of  points.

OVER  60 POINTS: Others see you as someone they should "handle with
care."  You're seen as vain, self-centered, and extremely dominant. Others
may admire you, wishing  they could be more like you, but don't always
trust you, hesitating to become too deeply involved with you.

51  TO 60  POINTS: Others see you as  an exciting, highly  volatile,
rather  impulsive personality, a natural leader, who's quick to make
decisions,  though not  always the right ones. They see you as bold and
adventuresome, someone who will try anything once,someone who takes chances and enjoys an adventure.  They enjoy being in  your company because of the
excitement you radiate.

41 TO 50   POINTS: Others see you as  fresh, lively, charming, amusing,
practical, and always interesting,  someone  who's constantly in the center
of  attention, but sufficiently well-balanced not to let it go to their
head. They also see you  as kind, considerate, and understanding, someone
who'll always cheer them up and help them out.

31  TO 40  POINTS: Others see you as sensible, cautious, careful &
practical.  They see you as clever, gifted, or talented, but modest. Not a
person who makes friends too quickly or easily, but someone  who's
extremely loyal  to friends you do make and who expects the same loyalty in
return. Those who really get to know you, realize it takes a lot to shake
your trust in your  friends, but equally that it takes you a long time  to
get over if that trust is ever broken.

21 TO 30   POINTS: Your friends see you as  painstaking and fussy. They
see  you as  very cautious, extremely careful, a slow and steady plodder.
It would  really surprise them if you ever did something  impulsively or
on the spur  of the moment, expecting you to examine  everything carefully
from every angle and  then, usually decide against it. They think this
reaction is caused partly by your careful nature.

UNDER  21  POINTS:  People  think you are shy, nervous, and  indecisive,
someone who needs looking after, who  always wants someone else to make
the  decisions and who doesn't want to get involved with anyone  or
anything! They see you as a worrier who always sees problems that don't exist.
Some people think you're boring. Only those who know you well know that
you aren't.


The Supper Club

Technically in the South the last meal of the day is called supper. It used to consist of leftovers from dinner - the big midday meal that gave you energy to plow the rest of the back forty. (wonder if Queenie the mule got a big dinner too?) Eating the leftovers at supper meant you started from scratch for breakfast the next day.

Anyway, last night I went over to CB for supper.
"Hey", Mom said when she saw me. Then she said it again. And again. And some more.
Apparently Iggy has been replaced.

Let's meet the rest of our table companions shall we?

To Mom's left is "Myrtle". Myrtle might have been quite the astute business woman in her day - nothing gets past her.
After she ate every single scrap of food on her plate and did the same to her dessert she said, "Let me ask you something. That sweet potato was good, but how much did I pay for it? Would it hurt them to give us some dessert? I would pay more for that. I don't mind paying for it."
She picked up a sliver of green bean that had fallen on the tablecloth, held it out on the tip of her finger to a passerby and asked, "Do you know what this is? Is this all they give us? Who's running this place?! Would it kill them to give us some dessert!?"

Continuing around the table to Myrtle's left is The Hummer. But let's give her a better name. Say, Dorothy.
Her Native American name would be She Who Scrapes Her Robe With Her Butter Knife While Humming. Dorothy is genial and loves to clean up. She takes the used coffee creamer containers and rinses them out in her water glass. She also collects the empty Sweet N' Low packets. If it looks like it needs it, she will scrape the tablecloth with the butter knife. When she speaks she has a lovely Southern accent.

To Dorothy's left is "Jean". Jean likes my mother and blows her kisses. She likes to hold my hand sometimes. She's pretty low key and doesn't say much.

Finally, there's "Barbara", the den mother of this table. She's always decked out in her finery, rings on her fingers, plastic bead necklace, a brooch penned jauntily on her holiday sweatshirt. She has coffee with dessert, with cream and two packets of "sugar" - the empties of which Dorothy promptly collects.
Dorothy was humming, Mom was saying "hey", and Myrtle was asking about the price of dessert when a man at another table shouted "Shut-up!" Barbara looked over at me and said, "Can you believe this bunch?"

Mom was cold and one hand shook, making me think it was a tremor, not cold. She had taken a bite of her sweet potato and maybe two of her chicken. I tried to get her to eat another bite of the potato, but her lips clamped shut. I could hear her saying "I don't like that."
The staff was withholding dessert until she ate more. WTF. If that's all she wants to eat, fine. Give the woman her stupid Ensure and pound cake. Grrrr.

After supper we went into the living room. The woman who is always saying help me, oh God somebody help me was in rare form last night. Mom had a coughing attack and the woman told her to shut up. Mom said "Oh you shut up."
You tell her Mom.

All the commotion seemed to be getting on Mom's nerves (or maybe that was my nerves), so we walked over to the Activity Room. Our pal Myrtle was there, examining scraps of material.
"Do you think I can take these? Should I pay for them? These are for the bathroom (a dog and cat print). This one seems cheap (an angel print) and tacky."

Then the "help me" woman (shall we call her Rhonda?) was wheeled in.
We spotted Mom's walker in the corner, identified with a luggage tag of a Boston Terrier. (Mookie!)
 "Fix it up."
I took that to mean open it up so she could use it. She went back into the living room with Jean, and I headed home to feed supper to those darn cats.


Here's an update on Mom's condition. She is walking much better, really didn't need the walker. There was a wheelchair and oxygen in her room.
But there's the tremor and some drooling. I called hospice to see if either of those was due to new medications or old medications stopping.
Her mental decline is worse. Trauma (hospital visits, being sick) will do that.


For tonight's music we have The Bulgarian Voices Angelite Dragana I Slavei. This gives me goosebumps. Like bagpipes. 


Dear Old Oscar

It's his birthday today. (The man not the cat).

It is also the birthday of Angela Lansbury, Tim Robbins, Bob Weir, Flea, Eugene O'Neill, Michael Collins, and Noah Webster.

Grand company to be sure.


Did you ever wonder how Oscar Wilde (the cat not the man) got his moniker? Whether you have or not, here's the story.

I hate that thing vets do, which is to give your pet, who is not related to you in any way, your last name.
It's weird. My father had nothing to do with these cats. Stage set then.

When I adopted Oscar from the Yulee, FL shelter, his name was Grayson.
He thought the name was so stupid his ear didn't even flick in my direction when called.

I tried other languages for the color grey (technically his coloring is blue).
Gris. Ah, no. (side note: In France, to be "grey" (ĂȘtre gris) means to be drunk.)

Then I thought of Dorian Gray.
But I'm not a fan of the name Dorian (Greek, meaning from the sea).

But wait! Who wrote Dorian Gray?
That's right, your pal and mine - Oscar Wilde.

And guess what - he came running when called.

Oscar Wilde (the cat)


Today Was A Soft Day

You know the kind.

The sky was perfect Carolina soft blue, the breeze had just a tinge of soft chill, the temperature was 74 soft degrees, the soft light was fall.

It was nice.

I walked some, sat and laughed with my friends some, drank coffee some. Grocery shopped some, came home, sat some, read some.

Here's what the cats did:


Birthday Boy

Today is The Boy's birthday.

You know what that means...
Tomorrow is Oscar Wilde's birthday (the man - not the cat.).

But back to The Boy. Who, by the way, HATES being called that.
Or used to.
Whatever. He tells people I have a stutter because I put an extra "n" on the end of his first name, so we're even as far as I'm concerned.
He also likes to remind me that his initials spell out SMAK.
What's the problem?
Don't get anything monogrammed...
here's a little something for your therapy fund.

I'm happy you're here.



Mom came home from UNC hospital Wednesday night; hospital bed was in place at CB.

She is very weak, but being in bed for five days will knock the wind out of anyone's sails I'm thinking. Then there's the pneumonia and her heart only pumping at 15% of its capacity. Last night she could barely walk two or three steps without having to rest.

(Let me interject that I want to drink a lot of wine. Right now. And eat much cake. But I'm not.)

This morning I signed her care over to hospice. We want for her never to go back to the hospital, for her to be comfortable with no invasive radical treatment efforts.

Don't break out the sack cloth and ashes though - she's not there yet. Plus this woman comes from a long line of death bed vigil bouncer backers.

They ordered oxygen, that will make her more comfortable. (I had asthma as a child and there is barely anything worse than struggling to breathe.)

Hospice pays for most of her meds, any equipment (oxygen, wheelchairs, hospital beds, etc.), and supplies (Depends), she needs. They bathe her and wash her hair. Her CNA makes body lotion for all her patients. (That just about killed me with kindness.) They will come as often as they need - the sicker she is, the more often they come. We're starting off with three days a week.

Last night I sat next to her as she ate her pie. Watched the woman across the table scrape her robe with her butter knife as she hummed constantly.

I don't think anything has hit me yet. I'm a fall-apart-later kinda gal. I think.

"Hope In The Air"

There is a man that I know,
seventeen years, he never spoke.
Guessed he had nothing to say,
he opened his mouth on Judgement Day.

I listened with all of my might,
but was scared by the look in his eyes.
Like he'd already lost the fight,
and there was no hope ever in sight.

No hope in the air,
no hope in the water,
not even for me,
your last serving daughter.

Why fear death, be scared of living,
our hearts are small and ever thinning.
There is no hope ever of winning,
oh, why fear death, be scared of living.

I have seen men provoked,
and I have seen lives revoked,
and I looked at my life and choked.
From there no more ever I spoke.

I can't give up that quick.
My life is a candle and a wick.
You can put it out but you can't break it down,
in the end we are waiting to be lit.

There's hope in the air,
there's hope in the water,
but sadly not me,
your last serving daughter.

A friend is a friend forever,
and a good one will never leave, never.
But you've have never been south of what blows off your mouth,
you will never understand, ever.

You speak minds handed down to you,
by the lies handed down by your truth,
and your angels will dance at your will,
will mask your scrambling youth.

I forgave you your short comings,
and ignored your childish behaviour.
Laid a kiss on your head,
and before I left said, "stay away from fleeting failure".

There's hope in the air,
there's hope in the water,
but sadly not me,
your last serving daughter.

Pick up your rope Lord, sling it to me,
if we are to battle I must not be weak.
And give us your strength world, and your food and your water,
oh, I am your saviour, your last serving daughter.

There's hope in the air,
there's hope in the water,
but sadly not me,
your last serving daughter.

There's hope in the air,
there's hope in the water,
But no hope for me,
your last serving daughter. 


Love This Song

Poor Eliza (Chris Bathgate)

I'm sinking come save me 
Poor Eliza my patsy
My visions all black holed and quivering
It is what it is what it is
I curse thee for placing these dark days upon me
For setting my blood as your dowry
It is what it is what it is

My wife is older and has no intentions
Is mindfully out in the garden
Out with the hay softly darkening
And painting it all light and liquid
The shadows all serious and cursive
All washing out in the distance
All washing out in the distance

Me and me and my flat-footed daydream
We hold it together so simply
All sovereign and long to be sleeping
Cause we have been saving our birthdays
From heartbreak and winter and swift chase
From heartbreak and winter and swift chase
From heartbreak and winter and swift chase

The song:


Back on Oct. 4 I wrote that this was the time of year Mom takes a down turn.
Saturday night CB called around 10:30 pm leaving a message to call them. When I reached them (the phone was on the kitchen table and I was here), they said she had some trouble breathing; they called the doctor and then the EMT's, then me.

As I put makeup BACK on (proof positive of my Southerness; I will put makeup on to take out the garbage.) and contacts back in, I was reminded of Andrea's recent post To The ER.
Thankfully I had taken a lovely long nap that afternoon. And I had my wall charger in my purse.

Reader's Digest version: we were in the ER for a relatively short time - a mere five hours from dropping off car at emergency room valet (I love that), until getting back in it again to drive home. They admitted her with pneumonia and fluid in her lungs because her heart is not working at capacity.
Because we do not want to do any sort of invasive treatment hospice is getting involved.
That's all I have time for now.

St. Pete
Shannon Wright

Two young horses dragging to St Pete
Worn out tired, right here

And the night falls on this oceans' white hour
‘Cause you won’t be coming home to me
And you said it sad and so playfully
I wish God would make things clear
‘Cause there’s no fight left in me

Relentlessly the sun is igniting
While all these concrete boxes sit empty
On these defeated Floridian streets
I know you won’t be coming home to me

Two young horses dragging to St Pete
Worn out, tired
Worn out, tired
There’s no fight left in me

(the YouTube link cuts off before the end of the song, but it was the only one I could find)



reminded me of this e. e. cummings poem:

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)


This is the Time of Year

when my mother tends to experience a trauma that precipitates a drop down to the next plateau of dementedness.

In preparation for the possibility of another 14 hr ER visit, I:

  • Purchased another wall charger for my phone and tucked it in my purse. 
  • Downloaded free classic books (which I have not read): Moby Dick, Frankenstein,  The Wind in The Willows, and A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court.
  • Transferred my music to the wonder phone.

One of the down sides of people getting my blog via email, is that when they reply to me only I get to see the lovely (or funny) things they say.

Here's some of the things said (that made me cry) regarding A Fallow Period:

- Also let's talk about not beating yourself up about your mom. And we will help take care of you :)

- Above all, do not punish yourself for those thoughts. You want a release for both of you. When you least expect it, a Guardian will come along to take care of you. Above all, just know you are loved.

It's ok Its been a long hard time for you. She would not want to stay like this. Don't beat youself up. Stay strong. We love you.

I always think of you as brave strong and creative.

Thanks everyone. These feel like hugs - which I like if they're from people I love. :)

Personal Bubble

Reading Cataline's (aka Anon CP) post (read it here), reminded me of something that happened recently.

A gentleman got out of his car to help our UPS driver with the door and locked himself out of the car. Being as I was in the parking lot trying to get my previous Windows phone to work, I got sucked into the maelstrom. Procured a wire coat hanger and then, because he was sure it wouldn't work, proceeded to call AAA for a locksmith. Just as they were confirming the address, by jingo, he unlocked the door. Whoo hoo.


He wanted to give me a hug for helping him.

I'm almost certain I had the Brad Pitt + baseball (statistics, whatever people) movie look on my face (as in ewwwwwww.), then I said, out loud, "I'm really not a hugger." (If you could only see the look on my face as I relive/type this).

But he was OBLIVIOUS and did it anyway. Talk about no good deed going unpunished.


A Fallow Period

Fallow: not in use; inactive: My creative energies have lain fallow this year.

Yep, that's me right now.

I'm sad about my mother. Sad that there is less and less of her every time I go. Sad about me and my cowardly ways.
Can I confess that I hope for the big one for her? I really do.
Last year when I was working for The realtor Dude, one of his colleagues, a very funny woman whose father was in a similar situation to Mom's, said all she wanted for Christmas was for her father to die. He waited until New Year's.
It sounds so crass, but, boy, I totally get it.

And then I worry about who's going to take care of me.


So anyway, I took the Windows phone back and paid for an Android - which I LOVE.
8 mega pixel camera (I think that's more than my "real" camera), an e-book reader - which remembers where I left off - shut up. And - I have reception in my office.