Time Marches On

Every now and then Dad drops his voice into the bass register and proclaims "Time marches on." Apparently a well-known radio announcer - Cronkite, maybe? - used to end every broadcast this way.

I found dad discombobulated when I went to see him on wednesday - he was searching for a pen to take down a number Charlie was giving him, and he couldn't find one that worked. I think what actually happened was that he can no longer see what he is writing and so he thinks the pen is not writing when it is. I called Charlie because I couldn't imagine what number he was trying to give Dad - turned out it was MY number. Oy.

Charlie is Dad's best friend, an octogenarian queen who lives in Florida. They met at Bard College in the early 1940s, and Charlie spent the school years teaching english and poetry at various colleges and spent his summers travelling all over the world. Now he's homebound after several strokes and spends most of his time on the telephone - he keeps Dad on for hours at a time!

Dad on New Year's: "So it's turning 2009?" "yes, Dad." "What will it be next year?" "2010." "And the year after that?" "2011." "And 10 years after that?" "2021." "So when will it be 3000?" "In about a thousand years." "We won't be around then." "No, we won't."