'Tis the day after Christmas. I finally was able to hit the road to Dixon, Illinois and wished I had managed the trip early on Christmas Day when people were mostly where they wanted to spend the day.
On the day after, or Boxing Day as the Brits call it, everyone here in the US seemed to be on their way home. I was passed by cars bearing license plates from the Deep South: Florida, Georgia, Alabama. The truckers were out in force, too, trying to make up for lost miles. On a good driving day I would be able to set the speed using cruise control, but today was a knuckle whitening day with both hands firmly grasping the steering wheel.
Finally I am here with Gary in the farm house. The longer he stays here, the nicer it gets though he really should consider throwing things away. (Note to self: forget that idea.)
We visited Aunt Shirley in the hospital. She now must be watched all the time because she tries to tear off her IV and escape. The doctors and nurses are doing their best to build up her strength but she wants none of it. Sometimes it is time and she seems to want the end to come soon. Yet there isn't anything really wrong with her other than she is 92.
Tomorrow will be another day. I volunteered to sit with Aunt Shirley for a couple of hours and listen to her stories, most of which I have heard, but it something I can do to help.
Gary still hasn't opened his present. It is a calendar with photos of our favorite camping spots. I give him one every year.
"Why don't you open it?" I ask.
"I know how it ends."
Which is the truth.
On the day after, or Boxing Day as the Brits call it, everyone here in the US seemed to be on their way home. I was passed by cars bearing license plates from the Deep South: Florida, Georgia, Alabama. The truckers were out in force, too, trying to make up for lost miles. On a good driving day I would be able to set the speed using cruise control, but today was a knuckle whitening day with both hands firmly grasping the steering wheel.
Finally I am here with Gary in the farm house. The longer he stays here, the nicer it gets though he really should consider throwing things away. (Note to self: forget that idea.)
We visited Aunt Shirley in the hospital. She now must be watched all the time because she tries to tear off her IV and escape. The doctors and nurses are doing their best to build up her strength but she wants none of it. Sometimes it is time and she seems to want the end to come soon. Yet there isn't anything really wrong with her other than she is 92.
Tomorrow will be another day. I volunteered to sit with Aunt Shirley for a couple of hours and listen to her stories, most of which I have heard, but it something I can do to help.
Gary still hasn't opened his present. It is a calendar with photos of our favorite camping spots. I give him one every year.
"Why don't you open it?" I ask.
"I know how it ends."
Which is the truth.
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