Monday, February 16, 2009

Downright Chilly In Here

Hello, folks!

Thanks for the kind notes. I miss you, too. I’m visiting my sister right now – the one with an Internet connection. It’s quiet here. She lives on Lake Ontario, I mean – right on the shore - and the beach is a frozen ice dune. Here’s a shot from her deck:


My father won’t eat. We ask him to eat something and he’ll say “BAH,” or “I said NO.” From what I’ve experienced, dying people are not as photogenic or eloquent as Lifetime movies would have you believe. Mostly, they are frustrated and in a terrible mood. There are endless moments filled with uncomfortable silence. And even if you bring a funny cartoon or a bag of candy to the hospital, chances are good that your father might tell you to throw everything away. It happens.

My father has lived for years without being able to breathe. I wonder how long he can go without breakfast, lunch and dinner? I keep telling him that old age will not respond to a hunger strike, but he will have none of it. We aren't even Irish!

Dad and I sit some more, me in my attractive scarf and him with his breathing mask, with lots and lots of nothing else to say.

More tomorrow.

Your Pal,

P.S.: Go Sasquatch! More polls soon. Promise.