Rebecca, my wife, asked me this morning: "Why are we still together, now that our two kids are out of high school." I replied, smartly, what keeps us together now must be our dog. Then from the back of my mind came: "Maybe the van also has something to do with it."
Our boy is twenty: truly an alternative creature: first-born-first-spoiled, but quite charming in his own way. Either he will stay honest and straighter than his teeth will, or become a politician, or even possibly a jerk ... who knows. "I'm privately hoping he finds his Way through music. Elan is definitely not your run-of-the-mill human being; we wish him the best of luck. We've held him up and held him back for twenty years; the rest is up to him.
Darcy is eighteen; the sweetest, prettiest, bestest person in the world. She and her mother sit around and cry together regularly. If there's justice in this world, she will be rewarded the best of luck, because she's surely earned it.
Our dog is a lovely two litter Idaho beagle named Goose who dearly loves Rebecca, and also kisses me often, because I let her. I've concluded dog-kissing's normal.
At Bodega Beach yesterday I was starting to get resentments about carting all our camping objects through the sand , having to do all the work, while Rebecca was sitting in the front seat. Then I noticed she was rubbing her foot, and seriously praying. She's got these tangled nerves in her foot, which cause much pain and numb a couple toes; so she was getting all serious, praying for a foot-nerve and bag-of-bones back miracle, all the while rubbing hard too. So, for a day after, Rebecca was singing hosannas and claiming a miracle, saying maybe we'd been wrong all along for being such skeptics.
I think old people grow more religious, looking for miracles to cure their failing bodies. There's probably more advantage in the rub than the prayer; and, having someone to rub is considerably better than kissing.
By Harry Holdorf
Coastal Post Home Page