In the aptly named wee, wee hours
of the morning,
I was sitting here in the dark, head bowed, eyes closed,
mentally composing a notice for the bulletin board
down at The Country Store.
Suddenly aware that I wasn't alone, I looked up.
(There wasn't any sound. Not a word. Not a gasp. Not yet.)
In the back-glow of his tiny flashlight, I saw a man
standing about two or three feet from me.
I turned-on the light with the line switch beside my knee —
and put a Hell of a load on the cinching strength
of my friend Ray's sphincters.BACKGROUND —• My first stroke (July 2001) paralyzed my epiglottis,
so I can not lie on my back lest the mucus and saliva
that would ordinarily drain into my stomach
would instead drain into my lungs and show me
very dramatically how painful prolonged death can be.
So I have to “sleep” (or try to) sitting upright in my recliner.
(Haven't been able to get used-to my hospital bed.)
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• Back in November, as Ray L, former VP at Morgan Stanley Dean Witter,
was touring the West in his motor home, his transmission went kerflooey
just outside Quemado.
While he's been arranging to get the transmission removed, shipped off
to be rebuilt (under warranty), and shipped back, all of which has been
taking disappointingly and frustratingly long, Ray has been living
in his motor home while it's immovably parked in my front yard.
He works the foreign money markets — most notably those in Japan
and Australia — on-line during the predawn hours here in the US.
He occasionally comes into the house to use the telephone —
usually when I'm still up very late or after the sun has come up.
He comes in quietly, so as not to disturb whatever I'm doing.
The other night was the only time when he has come inside in the dark.
And very likely will be the last!
