What's good

Last night, I received a call from the Cathedral City Citizens on Patrol (COPS) program coordinator, who wanted to tell me that they're ready to bring a caravan down to Lemon Grove to honor my dad with a plaque for his service in their city. I first heard about this about a year ago, when someone told my step-brother, John, that they intended to do this. They contacted me last October. I suppose it takes awhile to get five busy people together to make a road trip like this.

He asked how Dad and Pam are doing, and I had to tell them that Dad is dying. I don't know how I did it without crying, but I was able to fill him in on his condition and give directions, collect his email address in order to send him a map -- no sniffling; no sobbing. Just the facts, ma'am.

Last night, Dad seemed stressed and uneasy. He can't express what's wrong, but I can tell by his restlessness and his frowns. He asked if he had an appointment coming up, and I told him as he has no pain, I didn't see the point in taking him to see a doctor. He shrugged his shoulders, just like he always does when he doesn't know what to say.

Now, he doesn't really ask me questions in entire sentences. I have to use all my psychic powers to flesh out his sentences. I can tell if I got it right or not; he'll let me know right away. Fortunately, we're strongly connected, and I'm usually able to get it right.

This blogging about the folks is exhausting, and probably boring. So, about this time, if I were listening to someone else sing the blues over and over again like this, I'd ask them, "What's good?"

What's good, is Robert. He's tireless -- at least he is for me, when I call him sobbing about my family's plight. Everything's so drawn out and taking so long, yet he's steady and always there for me.

What's good, is that even though my friend Susan is in prison, she's able to send me emails about funny stuff she's been reading. If she can find humor in her situation, then certainly I should be able to do the same.

What's good is my dog, Plenty, who shoves his face through the crook in my elbow as I write, trying to remind me that the sun is coming out and it's time to get out of here and take a walk.

I think we will.