Authors notes: written in 2012, story is based in 1982
After dinner I headed for the living room and my favorite chair. As I sat down I loosened my belt a notch, then another, and finally unbuckled it altogether. Still not comfortable, I unbuttoned my pants and slid the zipper down a couple of inches. Finally comfortable, I surveyed the living room looking for the remote. I spotted it in my daughter Susan’s bean-bag chair. I got out of my chair and, holding my pants up, walked across the room and retrieved it.
I clicked on the TV and found a football game. I am not a football fan, but in those days, before the Golf Channel, this was the most tranquilizing program I could find. I had almost dozed off, when I heard the announcer say, “It’s now third and fifteen. What are they going to do?” I don’t care, I’m taking my nap. I thought.
Life is good. I thought What more could I ask for? And, I still have dessert to look forward to.
In just a couple of minutes I was in dreamland and engaged in dream conversations with pilgrims and Indians. I was questioning the Indians about why their turkeys were so skinny and their wives were so fat. Soon I would be into deeper sleep and even more bizarre dreams.
* * * * *
I felt a tug on my arm, it was my son Bill. “. . . do you want to go Dad?”
“Huh, wa, wa, . . .” what does this have to do with my pilgrim adventure, I thought, as I shook myself awake. I looked around, I was no longer in the autumn woods with the Indians and the pilgrims, I was in my chair, in front of the TV. A beer commercial was playing. Bill was still tugging on my arm. I squinted to look at him, “What did you say Bill?” I asked.
“Mom wants to know if you want to go for a walk.” he said.
My older son, Greg, who was laughing as he watched the beer commercial, added, “Fat chance, Bill.”
“I don’t know.” I said.
“Okay, I’ll tell Mom.” And Bill was off to the kitchen.
The game was back. I overheard Bill reporting to Henrietta, “Dad doesn’t know.”
Susan sat on the couch reading. I watched a few plays with Greg. Then it occurred to me that we were all in the living room, and Henrietta was still working in the kitchen.
“How come you guys aren’t helping Mom with the dishes?” I asked, looking first at Greg, then at Susan.
“She said we didn’t have to.” they answered, almost in unison.
Full of guilt, I struggled out of my chair, buttoned my pants, buckled my belt, and went into the kitchen. I pressed myself close behind Henrietta as I put my arms around her waist. “I hear you want to go for a walk?” I said softly to her.
“Yes, I think we should.” she replied.
“How about a ride instead, we could drive down to the river.” I said hopefully.
“You need a walk.” she said, jokingly poking her elbow into my stomach.
She was, of course, correct. I helped her finish cleaning up.
* * * * *
We walked, we talked, we laughed.
I am still most thankful, of all my blessings, for my loving wife and her caring for me.
Leave a Reply