From the Depths of Blogger’s Block Hell, I Scream at Thee

Middle sister called. Mentioned Dad has been reminiscing a lot.  I waited for her to say something like I had experienced — how his new sentimentality was a fishhook in the heart. Like Dad cramming for finals or something.

Instead:  “It’s an indicator for Alzheimer’s.  People get confused in real time, so they retreat to topics in their long term memory, which aren’t as affected.”  So, not my dad rending the very fabric his personality to reach out and make a personal bond after all.

She quickly followed up with how one symptom does not a diagnosis make, and how if it is the big A, it’s a slow moving prognosis.  It was hard to listen to the rest, with the constellations wobbling in the sky like they did.  Stupid stars.

In the real world, he came over a few days ago and fell asleep on my couch.  When I woke him up, he startled, four limbs out like a surprise skydiver.  “I’m up!” he insisted.  It’s awesome payback from all my teenager years when he’d mercilessly wake me up by poking me in the ribs and blaring, “Do you know what time it is?”

And oh, PS.  This happened:  My middle kid’s little league softball, first practice. Third item on the agenda?  Team name. They shouted, The Butterflies! The Sparkle Unicorns! The Princesses! And then one kid: The girls with balls!

Yeah, I wanna be on her team.