on the front porch. Keep thinking about how glad I am
I talked with him on Thursday night because
I’d gone to the allergist. He said I sounded
a scratch on my wedding finger
horrible. I told him what I was allergic to & he offered that
I shouldn’t do shots – I’d mentioned the doc said that shots would be
a last resort if the pills didn’t work. He actually asked about
reading Ketjak
cramming and writing papers. My husband. If the
pills don’t work. Talked a bit about work and
the economy. He asked if I’d gotten
Uncle Grady’s address
soiled prose
which I had from Ginger via e-mail. About fish.
When I called last it was the morning Aunt Wilma died
and Dad had gone to his pond to feed the fish. I asked
the haze between here and Oakland
if he still had his 4-wheeler and he said that’s about all he had left
(after the auction of his farm stuff). He said the docs said
his lungs looked better, that he still felt weak,
and they were still trying to wean him off the
rush to the restroom
prednisone. And he was still having coughing problems
(he coughed a bit when I first started talking with him).
I don’t remember anything else, except that I did something I
a paper cup filled with cool water
had rarely done recently which is I told him I love him.
He said I love you too Del. Friday I went to the doctor
for a cough. “I keep doing it again most days and it keeps doing me,
hopefully til it’s done.”
