Anchor Struck

You no doubt heard that Tuesday was Valentine’s Day.  It was on all the major

news sources.  As accelerated decrepitude continues to mellow me out, I’m

past the point of thinking of V Day as merely an uptick in sugar consumption

and exchange of fluids.  Cynicism has a downside.

It certainly helps to be married to the right person.  Jude knows me well enough  

to not expect too much of a bump in romantic behaviour.  So she had the fore-

sight to secure two choice pieces of cheesecake to mark the occasion.   

But before we consumed them with a topping meal, we had promises to keep.

We went to Chris and Nina’s to pick up the glasses and wallet of Sue, the widow

of Al the Mayor, whose death I reported in my last post.  Sue, who is still in

hospital with serious health problems, asked Jude to pick up those items and

her Bible from their home.  

I’m stalling as I struggle with how to tell you about Al and Sue’s house.  If I’m              

too vague, their story can’t be accurately told.  If I’m too specific, you’ll lose

your most recent meal or snack.  It’s quite the writer’s challenge.

Let’s try this: Sue and Al loved animals, from the wolves Al befriended to Sue’s

pet goats to the hundreds of cats mentioned in the last post.  At some point

the goats and cats moved in.  The wolves declined.  Dander and feces piled up 

unattended, and the house became unlivable.

But they continued to live there.  Al’s respiratory problems grew worse.  He 

eventually needed oxygen tanks and a nebulizer to breathe properly.  One of

Al’s brothers put an RV next to the house, and they ceded the house to the pets.

Al’s respiration immediately improved. 

The Bible stayed in the house, though.  Jude and I went there from Chris and 

Nina’s.  Jude, braver than me, went into the house and I searched the RV, just

in case and to ease my guilt.  I told her that this was the most sensible course of

action because her nurse’s nose could handle the smell, hastening to add that I

would be useless in there doubled up and puking.   

In the RV, I gingerly opened drawers and cupboards but found nothing.  For                   

reasons I search desperately to fathom, I opened the refrigerator.  The RV has        

a generator, but I didn’t know when it had been run last.  I’m guessing it was       

the Pliocene Epoch.  There was probably a cure for something or a biological

weapon of national importance in there, but I had to close it before I doubled

up and became useless.

I went back to our truck after shooing the goats out of the RV.  They were try-

ing to eat Al’s meds.  I scratched their heads as I waited for Jude.  She came out

about 15 minutes later.  She couldn’t find the Bible.  We drove home and she

went straight to the laundry room, shedding her clothes into the washer.

You could argue that this was not the ideal Valentine’s Day date, but I’d counter

that Jude showed supreme agapic love by risking her health to look for Sue’s

Bible.  As for romantic love, hmmm.

Hmmmmmm.

Okay, this is a stretch, but all this transpired on an exotic island.  Not a balmy

exotic island that might have a Sandals resort, but we’re getting there.  With

global warming, it’s just a matter of time before we’re the new Caribbean.

Oh, and, as we drove there and home, we were listening to a CD of crooners

like Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Nat “King” Cole and Tony Bennett.  Plus, we

ate our cheesecake BEFORE our main course.

Don’t look at me like that.  At least we got out of the house.