MiniSpa

If you're a boy, you don't know this. Many womens' restrooms have neat, fluffy things. Things suchs as hand or body lotion. Perfume samples. Air freshener. Most of these items are of a pastel hue. I hear that mens' restrooms are loud and smelly. Like an alley. It must suck to be a guy.

Hunt the Grunt

Somewhere in our den, there lies an undetected poo.

Duncan braved his third and probably final radiation treatment. He's doing great! Dr Cretin said he looks good and his weight is OK. We thought he was constipated, but Dr Chretin says he's empty. Either he's not eating or, "you'll find it eventually." Guess what we're doing tonight????

Meowstrong, Duncan!

102

Today is Sidney's birthday. He was born in 1904.

Sidney lives across the street in a house he bought in 1950. His daughter, Iona, lives there too. She's a retired nurse who takes care of Sidney. We see her from time to time, having a cigarette on the porch, or through the kitchen window. When we woke up Monday morning, the paramedic truck was outside. A police car was down the street. No one was moving very quickly. We've seen the trucks there before. A couple of times, Sidney's heart had stopped, but the paramedics revived him and he went on to enjoy his 100th birthday celebration and the year I grew extra tasty tomatoes.

This time was different. A police officer stepped out to the porch to make a phone call. She scribbled notes on her clipboard. She looked down at the ground. A slight drizzle started to fall. The west horizon was dark and cloudy, a sign of a dreary day ahead. The paramedics drove off slowly, quietly. The police eventually left. Iona stood on the porch and light a cigarette, staring at the ground.

I walked over in the drizzle and gave her a hug. "He didn't wake up," she said. "I didn't think it would be this hard."

It's never easy. Never.

Good night, Sidney. And happy birthday.