Or I'm just blog-friends with a bunch of liars.
Naaahhhh....I love you all. I believe every word that comes out of your keyboards.
O's dad is recovering, slowly but surely. He had an aneurysm in the abdominal aorta. A triple-A. I don't remember if I mentioned his malady or not. It is painful to see him. Such a fascinating man, with all his stories of New York City in the Fifties. He's met EVERYBODY, including Eleanor Roosevelt for heaven's sake. He's unable to speak right now, and with the drugs he doesn't understand why, or that it is a temporary condition.
There isn't enough I can say about O right now. He's an amazing guy. I wouldn't be able to handle this situation if I were him.
The boyos actually went to bed early the other night, so we talked uninterrupted for two hours, something we haven't been able to do for a long time. We talked about all the important stuff, like which authors from today would be studied and remembered in one hundred years. I argued that Stephen King would be among them, some of his short stories at least and he disagreed. O said that King is too timely, and I argued that the core of his short fiction is still about the human condition, and that never changes.
"Wanna make a bet?" he said, reaching out his hand.
"Sure," I answered, taking it. "But you're going to lose. In our next lives, you'll be on a college campus, and some crazy chick is going to run up to you with a lit textbook open to one of King's stories, shouting, 'I told you so!' 'I told you so!'
"I don't care if I win or lose. If I get to see you again in a hundred years in another life, I win no matter what."
That's real dialogue.
Wish me luck. I'm flying with the boyos back to Illinois, alone, on Thursday. Any distractions or entertainment (or drugging) suggestions anyone has for two three-and-a-half-year-old boyos on the plane are greatly appreciated.
We'll be there for two weeks. I'm dreading the plane ride, and seeing my grandmonster. But the rest will be filled with good food, plays, concerts, the symphony, a trip to Chicago, and friends as well as the family members I do love. I'll keep posting from Illinois, but it will be strange.
See, my parents don't know about us, about this little blog-thing we have going. I feel like a little girl who's hiding her diary. A diary that fifty or so people read, but a private diary nonetheless...