So now I’m in Raleigh North Carolina with my daughter and her husband and already he is bringing up health stuff again. Talking about my diet, talking about seeing a doctor. He wants me to see one of his friends in Ponte Vedra Beach. This man is claiming to be concerned about my health, and yet he is sending me back to Florida to see one of his doctor friends at http://www.mdmcommercial.com/. I’m as healthy as I’ve ever been. I’ve beaten cancer!
After I had finished chewing him out for being a jerk, my daughter spoke to me in private, and I could see the feat in her eyes. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Not the kind of emotions I want my daughter to be conveying, I love her, and I don’t want her to feel scared, nor do I want her reading this blog anymore.
Needless to say, I told her I would see a doctor when I got back home.
I have no intention of going to Florida unless I’m seeing my son and I don’t want to be in the sunshine state any longer than that.
That put a little bookend to our conversation, and we went out to get some of that world famous North Carolina barbecue. I had a beautiful rack of ribs from this place called ‘The Pit.’ If you needed me ever to go anywhere involving food and it’s called the pit, I guarantee that I’ll be there. I had that a wonderful craft beer called the AMB Revolution, and it washed everything down.
You are talking about some fine, hickory-smoked and honey glazed ribs. I almost ordered another one for the road. Give me a few pounds of napkins and a beer in a paper bag and this would be the best road food I would have ever had in my entire life. But once again, my daughter gave me those big sad eyes and told me some nonsense. I wasn’t listening because I was too busy being sad. Maybe it’s the ribs; they’re so good they’ve made me feel sad in front of people.
But, right now I’m lying in their guest bed, typing on this old Thinkpad my wife used to have. It’s interesting to touch the same keys she used to touch. There are little spots on the keys where her fingers used to be. I can place my finger over them, shadow where her slender fingers used to be.
She used to type letters to everyone in the household. If you left the toilet seat up, you got a letter. Got an A on your report card, you got a letter. She never even bought greeting cards, she would just work on this little guy tapping away until she found the design she wanted. I miss her letters; I miss her. I keep up with this…. Blog. But I don’ think that I will ever be able to produce anything as good as her. I don’t think I’m a writer; I don’t think I’m much of anything without her.