Life Augmented

During one visit, Ruth noticed the nurses would draw straws, afraid to go into one room, its door sealed by a big red bag. She asked why and the nurses told her the patient had AIDS.

On a repeat visit, and seeing the big red bag on the door, Ruth decided to disregard the warnings and sneaked into the room.

In the bed was a skeletal young man, who told Ruth he wanted to see his mother before he died. She left the room and told the nurses, who said, "Honey, his mother’s not coming. He’s been here six weeks. Nobody’s coming!”

Ruth called his mother anyway, who refused to come visit her son, who she described as a "sinner" and already dead to her, and that she wouldn't even claim his body when he died.

“I went back in his room and when I walked in, he said, "Oh, momma. I knew you’d come", and then he lifted his hand. And what was I going to do? So I took his hand. I said, "I’m here, honey. I’m here”, Ruth later recounted.

Ruth pulled a chair to his bedside, talked to him

and held his hand until he died 13 hours later.

After finally finding a funeral home that would his body, and paying for the cremation out of her own savings, Ruth buried his ashes on her family's large plot.

After this first encounter, Ruth cared for other patients. She would take them to appointments, obtain medications, apply for assistance, and even kept supplies of AIDS medications on hand, as some pharmacies would not carry them.

Ruth’s work soon became well known in the city and she received financial assistance from gay bars, "They would twirl up a drag show on Saturday night and here'd come the money. That's how we'd buy medicine, that's how we'd pay rent. If it hadn't been for the drag queens, I don't know what we would have done", Ruth said.

Over the next 30 years, Ruth cared for over 1,000 people and buried more than 40 on her family's plot most of whom were gay men whose families would not claim their ashes.

I’d say early 1870s (also my favorite fashion era, not coincidentally). Lots of jewel tones and ornate detail, an unnecessarily dramatic silhouette, historical influences- mostly 18th century, very elaborate hair...it’s perfect.

(Afternoon dress, early 1870s. Met Museum.)

(Mourning? dress, 1872. Met Museum.)

(Day dress, early 1870s. Kent State Museum.)

(Day dress, 1870. MFA Boston.)

They also went in big for pastels, but that can work, too, in kind of a Lucy Westenra “Bloofer Lady” way?

I know I posted a draft of this yesterday but this is better actually

you can read more about it here, and here- this excerpt sums up what information Hum will send: 

It tells the user what sites/apps you’re going on, for how long you’re on them, and WHERE YOU ARE ON AN UPDATING MAP.

So you know if you’re in an abusive household and use sites like tumblr to escape and talk to friends, you could be cut off from that.

We would often be too busy to take breaks.  I got splitting headaches.  I only got to have dinner with my husband a few days a week.  We worked on commission and that was based on people’s insurance.  That meant if you had a day full of patients who had state-funded insurance and only got what’s covered, you would make pennies.  There was a lot of drama with coworkers trying to pass off those patients because they needed the commission money to pay bills.  It sucked.  The whole thing sucked.

Cornstarch. In general, but especially:

Sprinkling corn starch, or any other way of rubbing two corn startched fingers together (I'm actually shuddering as I type this ickkkyyyyy)

Touching pruney fingers/toes to other pruney fingers/toes. Even if they're my own

Rubbing sandpaper on basically anything (I don't like the feeling OR the sound)

Details in Red

Portrait of Isabelle Antoinette Barones Sloet van Toutenburg, 1852, by Nicaise de Keyser.

Patricipance of Venice, 1881, by Alexandre Cabanel.

A Young Lady Aged 21, Possibly Helena Snakenborg, 1569, by an unknown artist.

Portrait de la comédienne Marie-Anne de Châteauneuf, 1712, by  Nicolas de Largillière.

Mrs. Hugh Hammersley, c. 1893, by John Singer Sargent .

Louise, Queen of the Belgians, 1841, by Franz Xaver Winterhalter.

Sabina Seupham Spalding, c. 1846, by Federico de Madrazo y Kuntz. 

Elizabeth I, the “Pelican” portrait, c. 1572, by Nicholas Hilliard.

Portrait of Mary Louise of Orleans, Queen of Spain, c. 1679, by José García Hidalgo.