Had Dad for the week and it was interesting. It was nice to come home each evening and have our "cocktail hour". He was quite impressed that I whipped up my vodka gimlet in a real genuine cocktail shaker (shaken not stirred). He was drinking his martini variations in a plastic water glass the first night even though I have every type of hi-ball, martini or wine glass you would ever want. Too funny, but then so Dad.
The "boys" went bowling a couple of times and he raved about the fancy structured hand torture device the pro talked him into buying. Guess I can't judge too harshly, he promptly went out and shot a 210 with the damned thing. He and I went to dinner at a wonderful Italian place here and had a great time. Who is this guy who is talkative, witty, charming, etc.... I stopped for gas on the way home and he literally leaped out of the car (well he is 83) to do the "dirty work". For an independent woman, it was quite a revelation.
He accompanied the Burt man on his Saturn route to see what it was like to ride in a $45,000 Saturn. Now there's an oxymoron -$45,000 Saturn. It better have hot and cold running everything. The main result of that adventure was that Burt apparently runs on fumes and the low gas beeper works like a charm.
But he still wanders at night; reads everything he can get his hands on in the quiet times; turns her picture around so he can't see her face and talks around the edges of his pain. We all grieve in different ways. It's just hard to watch his.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
hello there thanks for your grat post, as usual ((o:
Post a Comment