Arnie Gustafson had a stroke this morning.

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{
 "$type": "n_type_journal_entry",
 "id": "n_journal_2025_07_19",
 "createdAt": "1752946200000",
 "date": "2025-07-19T17:30:00.000Z",
 "body": "Arnie Gustafson had a stroke this morning.\n\nBev telephoned at twenty to seven. I knew from the first syllable; she did not say hello. He had come to the table for his coffee and could not lift the cup. His left hand lay on the cloth, she said, as if it belonged to someone else, and the left side of his face had come loose.\n\nR. was across the yards before I had put down the receiver. Hannah went after him. I did not send her. She was on the porch with her sketchbook and heard my side of it, and she ran, barefoot, the forty yards, and by the time I got there with my shoes on she was kneeling beside Arnie's chair holding his good hand and asking Bev, in a perfectly level voice, when he had last seemed like himself. Bev said ten past six, when he went out for the paper. Hannah wrote 6:10 on the back of her own hand with a pen from the telephone table. Then she asked him to smile, and to lift both arms, and to say his name, and he did the first two badly and the third quite well.\n\nI asked her afterward where she learned that. From her mother, at the dinner table, apparently for years.\n\nThe ambulance from Woodruff took nineteen minutes, which on this road is fast. The first thing the paramedic asked was when he was last normal, and Hannah held up her hand.\n\nThey took him to Woodruff and then on to Wausau by helicopter, where there are people who do this. Bev rode in the ambulance, and R. followed in the truck and has been gone all day. He telephoned at four. Arnie had the clot drug inside the time allowed for it. He can speak; he knew R.; the left arm and leg are weak, and nobody will say yet how much of that will come back. Their daughter is driving down from Duluth.\n\nArnie is seventy-six. He and R. have fished together every week of every summer for twenty years, and I do not think they have had ten conversations that were not about fish. R. said on the telephone, \"He asked me if I'd pulled the minnow bucket.\" Then he could not go on, and said he would call later.\n\nHannah has gone to work; she said she would rather. Before she left she washed the pen off her hand at the kitchen sink, slowly, and I watched her look at it first.\n\nI went over at noon and fed Bev's cat and wiped up the coffee.\n"
}

personas/retired-couple/records/journal-2025-2026.yaml:122

- id: journal-2025-07-19
  kind: journal_entry
  about: [arnie-gustafson, bev-gustafson, hannah, ray]
  date: 2025-07-19 17:30
  body: |
    Arnie Gustafson had a stroke this morning.

    Bev telephoned at twenty to seven. I knew from the first syllable; she did not say hello. He had come to the table for his coffee and could not lift the cup. His left hand lay on the cloth, she said, as if it belonged to someone else, and the left side of his face had come loose.

    R. was across the yards before I had put down the receiver. Hannah went after him. I did not send her. She was on the porch with her sketchbook and heard my side of it, and she ran, barefoot, the forty yards, and by the time I got there with my shoes on she was kneeling beside Arnie's chair holding his good hand and asking Bev, in a perfectly level voice, when he had last seemed like himself. Bev said ten past six, when he went out for the paper. Hannah wrote 6:10 on the back of her own hand with a pen from the telephone table. Then she asked him to smile, and to lift both arms, and to say his name, and he did the first two badly and the third quite well.

    I asked her afterward where she learned that. From her mother, at the dinner table, apparently for years.

    The ambulance from Woodruff took nineteen minutes, which on this road is fast. The first thing the paramedic asked was when he was last normal, and Hannah held up her hand.

    They took him to Woodruff and then on to Wausau by helicopter, where there are people who do this. Bev rode in the ambulance, and R. followed in the truck and has been gone all day. He telephoned at four. Arnie had the clot drug inside the time allowed for it. He can speak; he knew R.; the left arm and leg are weak, and nobody will say yet how much of that will come back. Their daughter is driving down from Duluth.

    Arnie is seventy-six. He and R. have fished together every week of every summer for twenty years, and I do not think they have had ten conversations that were not about fish. R. said on the telephone, "He asked me if I'd pulled the minnow bucket." Then he could not go on, and said he would call later.

    Hannah has gone to work; she said she would rather. Before she left she washed the pen off her hand at the kitchen sink, slowly, and I watched her look at it first.

    I went over at noon and fed Bev's cat and wiped up the coffee.