Nov. 27, 2009

Yesterday, I took Dad to spend thanksgiving with the youth at New Alternatives. He got dressed and out of the house relatively easily, but once we got there his newfound impatience kicked in. While waiting for a volunteer to get him a cup of coffee, he said, loudly, “that’s the longest cup of coffee, ever!” and then proceeded to ask everyone who got close enough when we were going to eat. Luckily, Russell found some Ritz crackers and we distracted him with those for a while. Then, after eating, he started announcing that it was time to go. It was only 2:30pm, and the idea of all the empty hours between then and bedtime made me want to stay a while longer, but Dad just wasn’t having it, so we headed back to his house.

“I haven’t cast a spell in thirty years,” said Dad, sitting beside me on his couch. His next sentence cleared away my mental images of Dad muttering incantations; “Should I take off my clothes and try?” “No.” I said firmly, and that ended the conversation.
Fifteen minutes later, suddenly my leg was seized by a cramp. “Ow.ow.ow,” I said, squirming around trying to find a more comfortable position. “That’s because you wouldn’t fuck,” said Dad, smugly.

Marie, his steadfast housekeeper, is taking today off to get married at City Hall. She has arranged for a substitute, so I only have to make it through my usual evening shift, but without Kate and Brianna, who are in Maine for thanksgiving, I’m afraid it’s going to be another boring evening. I’m having trouble finding ways to keep us occupied and today I’m dreading going over there and then feeling bad about wanting to avoid it.