Immortality (Such as It Is). Achievement: Unlocked



Six or so years ago, when I was still in Salt Lake City and GM of a large independent bookstore, we were approached by a site scout for the director, Jared Hess, and asked if we would be willing to be the setting for several scenes of the movie he was then shooting, Gentlemen Broncos. I did some calculations and came up with a price that would cover our lost sales, rent and salaries/wages. They were amenable, we signed a contract and in due course everyone got two days surprise paid vacation. A couple of my booksellers tried out to be extras in the book signing scene and one of them is in the line of fans but it's difficult to spot her because a) they put everyone in some sort of fanish costume and b) she's not that tall and is blocked out by the people at the front of the line.

Looking toward the front entrance. Jennifer is back there, somewhere.

I was asked to be the onsite representative of the company to make sure there was no damage done to our property and that everything was put back where it belonged when they were done. The crew came in, took photos of everything and then completely redid the main floor of the store. They had mock-up books, both hardcover and paperback, posters, banners (for which our store was uniquely suited) and PoP displays. They built, dismantled and rebuilt a set of mini railroad tracks for the camera. The camera crew arrived as did the actors. The make-up artists began work in the cafe. There were probably forty-odd members of the cast and crew present, not counting the extras.

Michael Angarano and Jermaine Clement on set at our front info desk.
My office is on the balcony all the way in the back upstairs.

There was a tense moment when, just as shooting was about to start, Jared Hess noticed a distinct humming sound that turned out to be from our fluorescent lights. Disaster was averted when the sound guy announced he could digitally remove the buzz later. After that, everything went smoothly and they paid me a ridiculous amount of money to stand around and do nothing for two days.


And thus to the point of the story:  They were basically done shooting having just wrapped the scene where Ronald Chevalier's plagiarized book is unceremoniously swept from the shelves when Jared Hess (I don't really know him well enough to call him Jared but he's such a friendly, pleasant person that it feels just as weird to call him Mr. Hess) asked me if I wanted to be in a movie.

Well, duh!

So they shot an unscripted scene of me pushing a cartload of books down the main aisle. They said they couldn't shoot my face for SAG reasons (which was just as well because I was wearing a frayed old blue and white striped shirt as I wasn't planning to be "in public" that day). I pushed the cart down the aisle twice, tracked by the camera dolly. Then they broke set, put (almost) everything back in its proper place, and left.

And that was that. They paid me for my "acting." (About 3/4 of 1% of what they paid me to stand around.) I figured the offer to do a scene was just an ego boost and I'd end up either in the closing credits, if I was lucky, or, more likely, on the cutting room floor. I moved out of Salt Lake before the movie came out. It didn't do well, unfortunately, and I forgot all about it.

Until last night when it appeared on TV. I watched it. I admit to having a strange sense of humor, but I enjoyed it.

And there I was! My entire take! In the middle of the film (or at least in the middle of the resolution). You can't see my face; there is nothing identifiable about the person pushing the cart. There's no credit line. But it's me! Immortalized on film.

And I have the blue-striped shirt to prove it!

End Games: My Face-Palm Moment

In the first book of the Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, there is a scene outside the gate to Moria in which Gandalf sits pondering the riddle written over the door trying to uncover the password that will let his party through. He translates it as "Speak, Friend, and Enter," and becomes increasingly frustrated as his "300-lives-of-men" worth of accumulated wisdom allows him to drag up virtually every secret password known to history all to no avail until it is pointed out to him that the riddle can also be translated as "Say 'Friend,' and Enter."

Face palm.

Boy, have I been over-thinking these puzzles. I solved two of them in short order over the weekend after dialing back a bit. I blame the need to discover an extra step in Puzzle 3 for my assumption of an unnecessary extra step in Puzzle 4. I was looking for the right solution and muddied up the clues which had been presented as straightforward as possible.

Puzzle 5 I rebuilt three or four times and kept fiddling with until I finally noticed, through sheer physically manipulative luck, the final instructions were built into the structure of the puzzle itself. When followed, the puzzle changed shape on its own, without further fiddling, and the answer was written right on it (although that did take a little squinting to see).

Unfortunately, that still leaves me four puzzles to go, the last one being unlocked yesterday. With all of them released, it is now a simple race to see who can deliver the last answer first. I am sure I am so far behind as to be completely out of the running but no announcement has yet been made, so I will keep plugging away.

Book Review, Now With Bonus Puzzle

I just finished a book, The Mobile Wave: How Mobile Intelligence Will Change Everything by Michael Saylor. It was a fun read, with a number of intriguing ideas by someone who ought to know, although it suffers from the boosterism of every title involved in the subject of "how X will change everything!".

One thing that has change in publishing, and not for the better, is the lack of serious editing and proofreading, a decision made, undoubtedly for financial reasons, by virtually all publishers. And very few authors value the services enough to pay out of their own pockets. The results are noticeable, often distracting, and do not do credit to either authors or publishers.

In this case, the book is well written but poorly proofed and, especially in the second half, an increasingly distracting number of extraneous words pop up in the text. Mostly they are conjunctions, articles and prepositions and do not change the meaning or clarity of the author's arguments but occasionally where the author selected a better choice for an existing word the old one was never deleted. Noun/pronoun mismatches and noun/verb disagreements also grate.

The best part, however, is: the author used staff from his own company to work on the book and at least some of them took advantage of the lack of adult supervision to hide their own names throughout the Reference section. (Yes, authors, there are people who will look at your notes, appendices and references.)
I had noticed what appeared to be randomly bolded letters throughout the section which, on closer inspection and connecting the dots as it were, formed the names of several employees whom the author credited with helping. (I've mentioned before that I like puzzles.)

So now I confess: I sent a somewhat snarky e-mail to the VP of Communication (who is also credited with working on the book put did not participate in the prank) sort-of ratting them out.

Book Review

O.K., this is how you do science fiction/fantasy/horror. As opposed to this.

In anticipation of Isaac's visit and presuming he would not let us down, I got an extra book from the library to pass the time when the power would be out. Despite events, I read it anyway.

The Strain, a collaboration between Guillermo del Toro (for some strange reason shelved under "T") and Chuck Hogan (shelved under "T" because he's the second banana in this partnership) uses science, and uses it well, to justify a vampire outbreak in New York City.

I don't feel too bad about the spoiler because the book leads off with one of its own. In spite of that, and a little too much explicit foreboding on the part of people who probably shouldn't feel it just yet, the authors manage to create an aura of palpable and growing fear from the straightforward procedural of dealing with an anomalous plane landing at JFK airport. As the response to the situation escalates from the tower, to airport security, to the TSA, the local CDC rapid response unit, the NYPD SWAT team comes the realization that no one has a clue and that standard operating procedures are only going to make things worse.

One of the things I hate about disaster books and films is that the characters frequently bring about their own fates by doing blatantly stupid things: wandering off alone, ignoring specific orders, breaking professional rules, etc. I have little sympathy for them when they meet their justly deserved fates. Here, however, bad things happen and civilization starts to fall precisely because everyone follows the rules and goes by the book. The first responder tactics, epidemiology and morgue procedures, in particular, are all handled very well. And the rat catcher knows his business.

Even at the end of this volume, when the ad hoc team that has come together after finally realizing the peril manages to video one of the victims, their only recourse, since the authorities are still in denial and trying to avoid panic by suppressing the news, is to upload it to YouTube--where, we find out in the second volume, it is mocked, parodied, trolled and generally disparaged. Yes, indeed, this is how it will end.

A couple of minor quibbles. As mentioned above, there's a little too much giveaway at the beginning. The tension would've been even higher if I didn't know it was a vampire story going in. (And I don't feel bad about giving that away since the book already does for anyone who gets past page three.) And the character names can be awkward, at best. Ephraim is not a name I ever expect to encounter outside a history book and, really, why would any parent ever name their kid "Eldritch"? Also, in the last battle with the Master, would you really break off in the middle of the fight which you appear to be winning, leaving one of your own alone against the prime villain, in order to attend to the other member of your party who is having a heart attack? Seems a little Deus ex machina coming down on the bad guy's side.


The Strain is the first in a trilogy. I've already picked up volume two, The Fall, and am looking forward to Night Eternal. Find it for yourself.

The Calm Before

Isaac is on his way. Currently, there is a hurricane warning from the keys up to Bonita Beach which is about twenty miles south of us. We have a tropical storm watch notice.

Yesterday was perfect. Warm, sunny, high broken clouds. No humidity. In other words, a tease. While still warm and dry, today is heavily overcast with high, thick clouds thinning slightly to the north. Under that cover lurks a bank of cumulus covering most of the southern horizon. These clouds are not Isaac but are being pushed ahead of the storm as it nears. Wind is gentle from the west. Water in our numerous canals is slightly roiled.

Isaac is supposed to stay out to sea and become stronger as it passes us. That means probably less wind (first from the east, then south and, finally, west) but more rain as the cyclonic spin carries water to us from the Gulf without first passing over other land. Rain is scheduled to start sometime this evening and could last for two or three days. There will be flooding.

We have stocked up on canned goods (the kind that can be eaten directly from the tin in case the power goes off although I'll probably stick with the tuna as canned ravioli and packages of chicken 'n' dumplings in pasty "gravy" appeal only slightly more than cannibalism as menu options), bottled juices, bread and cat food (a necessity since I am confident the cat would have no compunction about considering either of us menu options if the need/opportunity arose). Our flashlights and emergency radio are crank operated so batteries are not an issue. We could use more peanut butter and I'll pick up another book from the library. I'll have to remember to do laundry tonight.

Odds are none of this will be necessary (except the laundry).

Book Review

I feel sorry for the censors over at the CIA.

Seriously.

They have to read every article, essay and book written by every CIA employee, current or past, before publication, to insure no secrets are released, intentionally or otherwise. But--and this is apparent from my reading of various items published by CIA employees, current and past--they are not allowed to edit or critique the works they censor. This is also apparent from the quality of the novel I am trying to work through right now. I don't know if I'll make it.

The cover boasts the fact the author is ex-clandestine service. The blurbs on the back, including from Larry Niven and Dean Coonts,* rave about the book's cosmic science-fictiony thrillerness. This story is supposed to tie in every paranormal X-files conspiracy theory as only a CIA insider can! As best I can tell so far it's a minor miracle we're not all speaking Russian by now.

Let's forget about the protagonist who conveniently develops characteristics as necessary. He's rich. And good looking. Does he need to figure out something technical? Well, he's intelligent. Wait, not just intelligent. A savant. Four degrees from three different schools. (Does Cornell even offer an advanced degree in philosophical epistemology and astrophysics?)

This brilliant, well-bred, rich young man volunteers for France in World War I (admittedly before getting his college education). While many people, on both sides, thought the war would be a romantic adventure when it first started, our hero goes over in 1916 when the full horrors of trench warfare are well known. What's his motive? Don't know. Not an overpowering love of France. Really, no idea.

Now, I'm willing to believe (or at least suspend disbelief) that he's brought back from a battlefield death (combination shooting and gassing) by aliens. This is supposed to be a sci-fi thriller after all. However, I can't believe he's given a magical Bible by his (not nearly as mysterious as she's probably supposed to be, nudge, nudge, and who is never heard from again anyway) nurse, put on a hospital ship (named Galactic. Get it?) with another wounded prisoner whose name and wounds are almost identical to that of his best friend who went to France and was killed right next to our hero and who then dies himself (why was he even there?) when the hospital ship is torpedoed by a German U-boat whose captain surfaces to machine gun the survivors but is in turn blown out of the water by another hospital ship (the Angelic. Get it? Get it?) that was following eight hours behind and carries a cannon whose gunner is happy to sink "the Nazis." Nazis? Really? It's still 1917 at the latest. And was he machine gunning the survivors for eight full hours? That's dedication. Actually, it's all nonsense and has nothing to do with the story as far as I can tell.

Nor am I willing to accept that the alien who crash lands his saucer, containing his wife and kids no less, at Roswell while buzzing Earth with several friends for no discernible reason is named . . . wait for it . . . Kul' da-Zak (probably because he was destined to dead end into the New Mexican desert). It is a detail, unfortunately typical, as irritating as it is irrelevant since he only ever appears again as a half rotting corpse being transported across country in a box misdirectingly labelled as carrying torpedoes. Of course, our hero, now with the CIA and escorting the trip, proceeds to ask a GI what the labels mean, then tells him they're not carrying torpedoes but bodies, then tells him it's just a joke and never to speak to anyone about this ever again pinkie swear. Is this the CIA's idea of operational security?

Not to mention the unseen omniscient supreme being named Ga'Lawed with twelve Samaritan "apostles" named Won, Tu, Tha'Ree, Vor, Fieva, Sixkt, . . .. Need I go on? Perhaps something in CIA culture drains imagination from its operatives.
And this is where I give up: Our hero, who single handedly predicted not just the outbreak of WWII but its ultimate course and outcome by means, we are told, of theories from Poincare and Malthus and a ball of string, has just handed a report marked "Eyes Only," to his boss, the admiral, a security level which he has just created, also single handedly and without any input from the intelligence community or any other government entity, thereby confusing his boss, the admiral, who responds saying: "My sailor's gut is full of gas and I'm going to break wind like a high-pressure squall. Tell me something that calms this bureaucratic sea."

Nope. I quit. I'm barely a third of the way in and I just can't take it any more. This is a thriller with no thrill. A suspense story with no suspense. Dull, plodding exposition interspersed with inane dialog, over-explaining but never showing.

The Cryptos Conundrum, by Chase Brandon. As you value your sanity, let this one lie.

*(Either Niven and Coonts owe Tom Doherty money or the CIA has something big on them in its files.)

Mom, A Life: Part Nine

Mom, A Life: Part Eight

The Final Years

Dad was in a serious car accident just as they were building the new house. That, and the fact their contractor absconded with several thousand dollars necessary for the finishing work, meant the move was delayed, drawn-out and a little traumatic. They stayed with first one son and then the other (both of whom were living in town at the time) and eventually the place was completed.

In late 1997 Dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer and underwent cryogenic surgery. During follow-up another tumor was discovered and he began chemotherapy. As Mom described it from the x-rays, "It looked like a loaf of French bread wrapped around the back of his stomach." At first he responded well and they could see the tumor shrinking almost daily but suddenly something the doctors called a "wildfire" took over. In less than a month, on March 22, 1998, Dad died.

Mom continued to teach ceramics at the Senior Center and occasionally took on jobs either when she wanted extra money or just because she was bored. (She did a short stint as a dispatcher for a rental car company out at the airport one time.) She gave up driving and my brother, who had sold his house and moved in after his girlfriend died, chauffeured her around. In 2000, my brother managed to pull off a surprise 80th birthday party at the country club that included her children, grandchildren, most of her nephews and nieces, surviving sister and brother-in-law and a host of friends.

The remaining dozen years passed quietly. Mom's back had been giving her problems for decades. What with slipped and disintegrating discs and severe scoliosis she became hunched over at the waist and barely four feet tall. (She was 5' 6" most of her adult life.) As her mobility decreased she stopped going anywhere except ceramics class and doctors' appointments. We had always planned for Mom to live to at least 100, both because she thought that was a nice round number and also in hope she'd passed on longevity genes to the rest of us, but in 2008 I received a letter from her hinting at imminent problems. I moved in with Mom and my brother to help him look after her. The letter turned out to be a touch melodramatic.

Mom talked about moving to an assisted living facility but, although we got brochures and made some visits, her heart wasn't really in it and she stayed home. Her mobility became worse and she was plagued by occasional incontinence and so stopped going to ceramics out of what might best be called anticipatory embarrassment. She most definitely did not want her friends to see her deteriorating.

Mom was diagnosed with moderate Alzheimer's in 2010. She never discussed the diagnosis and I often wondered if one of the effects of the disease was that the implications never really sank in with her. She was put on a drug that noticeably slowed its progress, and for the six months immediately after the diagnosis she showed real improvement both physically and mentally. We even made one last visit to the ceramics class at the Senior Center.

Eventually, though she spent her days mostly on the couch reading and watching TV, although she no longer enjoyed watching sports as she found she didn't understand the rules or the point of the games any more and had no patience for anything lasting longer than a half hour or so. She read continuously, both magazines and large print books from the library.


She still dressed herself (with an increasingly eccentric creativity), made her own bed and did her own laundry (or tried to. We took that last chore away from her after she washed some disposables and filled the dryer with cubic feet of fluff). She had a great appetite and ate everything we made for her enjoying the occasional glass of wine with dinner. Although she had more and more trouble finding the right word, she never lost verbal capability and always recognized people. Her biggest problem was insomnia which could keep her bouncing up and down all night long and exhaustedly napping all the following day.

In February 2012, I noticed a decline in Mom's cognitive abilities. Despite the doctor's warnings about the inevitability of Alzheimer's, Mom had been so stable for so long that it came as something of a shock. During an appointment in early March, her GP noted a spike in her blood pressure and asked if she had a living will and DNR order on file. He recommended we post it on the refrigerator. Mom's insomnia was worse and she was a little more agitated than usual over the following weekend and then, sometime over night or, more likely, early Monday morning, her heart just gave out.

Mom died at home, in her room, Monday March 12, 2012, fourteen years after Dad. She was three months shy of 92.


Post Script

This sketch of Mom's life turned out to be a lot longer than I'd originally planned, yet it is still far, far too short to do her any kind of justice. I haven't mentioned her sense of adventure and willingness to try anything at least once. She'd go out in the woods with us kids to explore the "cave" we found. She had us all grilling Japanese food on hibachis and eating with chopsticks back in the '60s. She taught tolerance (no excuses) and encouraged intellectual curiosity. She's why I was listening to Stravinsky and Berlioz at age eleven and owned the complete Yale edition Shakespeare at thirteen (best junior high school graduation present ever!) and why I can cook for myself well enough to entertain in several different styles. ("You're either going to get married or stay single. If single, you're not rich enough to eat out every night so you'll starve if you don't know how to cook. And if you get married I'm not going to have some other woman complain I gave her a helpless son.")

Thanks, Mom. I love you, too.

It Just Doesn't Get Any Better

This has been pretty much the perfect day, so far.

Mom went to bed late (for her) and woke up early (for her) but most importantly slept through the night. She was bright and alert when she arose.

Mom received a phone call from an old friend this morning. The two of them had a nice chat. The conversation did take twice as long as it would have under normal circumstances but since it involved two semi-deaf old ladies half of it consisted of "What did you say/do?" and "No, I said. . .". Still, Mom didn't sound a day over eighty. And when she hung up she recounted some of it to me. (Seems her friend, who is near Mom's age but still has most of her faculties, has finally had to give up driving and isn't yet used to having family chauffeur her around.)

The only weird part of the day was the excessive praise for her "wonderful, amazing" breakfast just because I put fresh strawberries on her chocolate Cheerios.

Otherwise, it's warm and sunny, the doors and windows are open, my brother picked a newly-blossomed rose (that actually smells like a rose, unlike the store-bought kind) and put it on Mom's table where she is sitting with a cup of coffee and a fresh bunch of grapes reading her book.

If only we could just freeze things as they are right now.

Mom-Sequiturs: Promise Kept

Mom has a tendency to nod off frequently during the day, usually when reading. Partially this is due to her bad sleeping habits and predilection for getting up several times during the night thinking it's morning already. Partially it's just due to being almost 92 years old. Usually, her head slowly sinks to her chest until the book falls from her hands which wakes her to start the cycle over again.

This morning, after breakfast, she was reading her latest large-print book from the library. Suddenly, she closed the book put her head all the way back on the couch cushion and declared, "I think I'll snore a little for a while." Which she did.

For Those Unclear on the Concept

Today, parked out front of the city's branch of the county library is an enormous tractor trailer rig with expandable side panels (like an RV that expands outward to create a cantilevered "dining room"). One large panel toward the front of the street side was open to reveal a mass of electronic equipment. On the sidewalk side was a "front porch" type of step-up platform under an awning beside which sat a woman with a folding table and paper work under her own canopy.

The signage painted on the side of the trailer read: "DIGITALBookmobile" and "Download Books & More From Your Library!"

I asked a very tall young man wearing a Digital Bookmobile polo shirt what the purpose of the truck was.  He said it was for downloading e-books. I explained that with a reader or a laptop or a phone the whole point was I could download a book virtually anywhere and did not need to go to a "Downloading Place" and that that was, in fact, one of the selling points of e-books (and the dread of brick and mortar bookstores). He admitted the truck was really an educational and publicity campaign for people who didn't understand.

Apparently, that population is sufficiently large to justify a national tour.

And . . . We're Back! (Temporarily)

Just like that Mom's awareness has snapped back into something much closer to normal. I'm beginning to think the insomnia is a major factor in her recent fogginess. I present negative evidence:

The last couple of nights she has been staying up later than usual which means going to bed really tired, which means really falling asleep and staying there. She's only gotten up once or twice to go to the bathroom and has gone back to bed instead of staying up. As a result, she's been rising much earlier (between 7 and 8 a.m.). She's napping somewhat less and is much more alert when awake. She's been reading her book again (although not in any consistent order). Her sense of humor is back. (When I gave her her morning eye drops accurately she said, "Right on the nose!" I said, "No. Right in the eye! I'm trying to avoid your nose!" She laughed.)

Unfortunately, I don't believe this will last.

We see the doctor later this month. I'll ask if there is anything we can do for her sleep issues but this is apparently one of the symptoms of Alzheimer's so I'm not very optimistic.

Lazy, Hazy Daze

So, it was a perfect summer day yesterday, sunny, scattered clouds, warm (but not excessively like the rest of the country), no humidity (that's always the killer this time of year) and I talked Mom into going outside for a while, something she just does not do anymore. She sat out front in the shade at the edge of the grass in a cushioned lawn chair and I brought her her book and a drink and joined her with one of each of my own and we watched my brother mow the lawn.

She offered me some of her juice assuring me, "I haven't tasted it, yet." I showed her I had my own.

She said it was too hot out and her juice was going to get warm. I said that was why I had put an ice cube in it.

She said it was too hot and the ice cube was going to melt before she could finish her drink. I said it was still better than no ice cube. (I didn't mention that she normally doesn't want ice in her drinks at all.) She said, "That's true," and offered to share with me. I showed her my drink. We both sat and read for a while.

After about forty minutes she said, "My seat's getting sore and it's too hot out here," so we packed everything back up and moved inside where the thermostat is set at 79. She put on her sweater, sat on the couch and read her book.

Whodunnit

So I got Mom an Agatha Christie (the only one in the library's entire large print section! Maybe there are others already out?) and she seemed to like it although this morning she told me I could return it because she was finished which I thought was awfully quick of her but it's not a large book and she insisted she had read the first half years ago and therefor had skipped ahead to the finish.

She did say I could pick up something else for her "if [I] want to."

No Fairy Tales, Either

Mom had requested that I not get any more books for her and for the last week or so she has limited herself to magazines (Smithsonian and National Geographic) and catalogs. Yesterday she went and picked a book out of the bookshelf. It was the Arabian Nights, a condensed version of the Thousand Nights and a Night. It's not a large type book but neither was the other one she'd picked up recently.

When I went to give her her eye drops that evening she put the book down and exclaimed, "This is the worst story ever. If it doesn't get better soon I just may not finish it." I asked what was wrong with it.

She said, "They promised to kill this man if he doesn't get married in time." I'm not at all sure which story that is.

This morning she was reading it again and, again, when I went for the eye drops she said, "This is awful." Then she looked up at me and said, "Would you get me a book from the library?"

I'll stay away from Alexander McCall Smith this time.

Reading Redux

I got a little ambitious, apparently, in my choices for Mom's reading. The last book I took out from the library for her was McCall Smith's Double Comfort Safari Club. She didn't like that at all. She claimed it was because she'd read it several years before and didn't like it then but the copyright is 2010 so that's not the case. I think she just couldn't cope with the foreign names.

Mom has developed a kind of faux deja vu. She frequently thinks she's seen or read things before that are just not possible: live sporting events, newly published books, etc. When I point out the temporal paradoxes, she accuses me of not believing her. Which is true.

While I try to let a lot of things slide, for some reason this one gets to me. Forgetting words, mixing up names, even an increasingly random sense of time are all OK. For some reason this deja vu thing seems a more ominous indicator of the path she is on. Since it's not going to change for the better, I just need to learn to let it go, too.

I'll get her a new mystery set in England or the US.

Reading Habits

Mom has started reading again. I attribute this almost entirely to her Exelon patch.

Before, she would read and re-read and re-read the same magazine article or catalog page. It looked like OCD but it was really just her inability to absorb anything she read. At one point she asked for a book and I got a large-print mystery from the library for her but she quit it half way through saying she'd read it already and that it was all familiar. It was a new release so I know she hadn't seen it before. She's done the same thing with sports on TV, claiming to have seen the game before and either "knowing" how it comes out or wondering why "they" changed things this time.

But, lately, things seem to have changed. She is now on her third book in six weeks (another mystery) and is not only completing them but enjoying them as well. She's using a bookmark to keep place and I do not see her starting over, going back, repeating pages or otherwise betraying any indication she is not getting the full experience.

She also seems to be forgetting fewer words and she even remembers what day it is--sometimes (usually on weekends ever since I instituted French toast Sunday breakfasts).*

*It's a question the docs always ask and it's not really fair IMHO since all her days are pretty much the same and tend to run together.