Every now and again you see something that brightens your day. Today, for example, I was riding my bike home after work and passed the new burger joint that's opening up soon on Fifth Avenue. This is something that speaks of the resilience of hope, even in these tough economic times- that someone would invest his heart, his sweat, and possibly even his life's savings in such a venture, going out on a limb and risking it all on a chance to fulfill his life-long dream of opening his very own burger joint! O the boundless optimism of Capitalism, nothing less than a tribute to the very Human Spirit!

And sure that's great and all, but really I could care less about that. What gladdened my heart was the minor editing job done to the sign (I assume) by some juvenile-minded hooligan:


(click on the picture to magically make it bigger)

Yesterday was my folk's 49th wedding anniversary, and we had a nice dinner at the rehab facility where my dad's been since they let him out the hospital. Lobster salad and gazpacho, and they let you have a private room if you ask. It's a pretty nice place. My sister is here too- she's been in Columbus ever since he had his stroke. Thank goodness. she's probably singlehandedly responsible for keeping my mom from going out of her mind with worry- I try and do my best of course but I got to go to work and shit and anyway I'm not too good at that kind of thing. Sometimes I just don't know what to say. I don't know what to say to my mom when she says how old and drawn and sad and old Dad looked today.

She comes home without her husband. It is her anniversary, and she breaks down in tears.

And I just don't know what to say.

The doctors all say Dad got off real lucky, if "lucky" is a word you can correctly use in a sentence which also includes the words "had" "a" and "stroke". By all events it seemed to have been a minor stroke, and fortunately occurred in an area of the brain responsible for personality- thus not a part of the brain Dad typically requires on a day-to-day basis. He is very weak, but it seems so far that he has suffered no physical disability. Mentally he seems to be more or less present as well, but it's hard to tell for sure as they've got him pretty much doped to the gills. His speech is clear, although his voice is weak, and he has at best a tenuous acquaintance with lucidity. He picks agitatedly at his I.V. tubes. He seems to be under the impression that he is on a cruise ship. I guess this is probably better than him thinking that he's in a hospital, all things considered. Because cruise ships are fun.

He is beginning to suspect that the nurses are drugging him. I'm not quite sure what tipped him off- was it the I.V. in his arm? The pills they keep giving him? He looks around and narrows his eyes suspiciously:

"I've only had three or four glasses of beer since I got here today... I'm not the kind of guy who staggers around like this after only two or three glasses of beer...."

When the time comes I have to leave, he looks kind of puzzled. Where am I going? Whatever happened to mother? Is someone going to come to pick him up later? I try to make sure he has his cell phone and ice-water handy.

On the hospital bed he looks so small, so weak, he looks so all alone.

And it breaks my heart.

My Dad is seldom happier than when he's with his children, and although he's never admitted it in so many words it's long been perfectly obvious that of his three children his favorite is his daughter. So he was very happy as we sat there in the garden, chatting, having a glass of wine, my sister deadheading the flowers. He was very happy indeed, right up to the point where he suddenly fell over backwards, flat on his back, his head landing only inches from the 4X4 supporting the fence on one side, and the large rock which marks the final resting place of Spike the Cat on the other.

The X-rays this morning showed that he hadn't broken any bones. The CAT scan of his brain showed that he does, in fact, have a brain, which should lay that particular rumour to rest.

It also showed an abnormality on his right frontal lobe: apparently he had either suffered a stroke or he has a brain tumour.

This is, well, this is very bad.