Readers, you need either a thank you or apology up front. I realize this place, which I consider to be more of a front porch sit on a hot afternoon with a glass of tea than anything else, has been more of a hospital visit on a cold, sleety, Tuesday in February. Yeah, I don’t want to be there either. I’m glad you still come and visit though, because I sure as hell need to hear my own voice even if I don’t like what’s coming out of my mouth. And you are very, very good listeners. I will bake you cookies.
At dinner on Saturday, my father said three things in my earshot.
“I love you”And a chuckle when RR told her favorite joke (What do you call a snake on a car? A windshield viper.)
This may have been because he was barely breathing as his cold/pneumonia/something persists nearly three weeks later. My mother says to me, “Well what’s the point of taking him to a doctor. I mean, their job is to make you better and they can’t do that, so what’s the point?” (That’s five dollars for #6, thanks, I’ll just owe you) You know, there IS still a point. You could keep him alive a bit longer. Or, at least, see if you can get him breathing again. Respiratory illnesses actually kill people. This is a known fact. Perhaps this is a good reason not to take a cross-country trip on Tuesday.
They were at our house on Saturday because Debra and I were planning to spend the day on an adventure, leaving RR with them. Come Saturday morning, my mother remembered this as going to see a movie in the late afternoon. “Come at 5”, I said, giving up the struggle. Grouchily, as Debra will tell you. Come at 5. They arrived at 3:45. Long enough for chatting, but not long enough to go anywhere. Given that I had been through a full 4 different plans to celebrate my wife’s birthday, this was just another drop in the bucket (#7).
My mother, who needs someone to talk to because I cannot imagine what it must be like to live her life right now, joined me in the kitchen. I actually can’t imagine it because of the ugly sobbing (mine) that follows. Oh you know, she says, thanks for letting me rest at your house this week. You know, those eye drops really made it hard to see. I inquire. Oh yes, I can’t see out of my left eye anymore, she says covering her right eye for effect. You see, you’re not there at all anymore! Says the woman who is hoping to drive 500 miles a day for the next three days, hauling a beast of an RV behind her (#8).
So, there you have it. Numbers 6-8. I’m exhausted just thinking about it. But now I have to figure how to get you to come over to listen to my work problems. Or maybe the ugly sobbing problems. Or my wifely duty problems. I’ll bribe you with pictures of my daughter but I won’t blame you if you have to stay home and wash your hair, instead.
As for those cookies: