Legions of kids have learned to write in the dark. Here with only the screen to illuminate the keyboard, most words are coming out misspelled or glued to each other. But it's peaceful here at 6:30 a.m.
The friend I joined for lunch with the other day is in crunch time. The big city Cancer Center is doing its Hail Mary pass. Her husband has been entered in a clinical trial with a new combination of FDA approved drugs. A stew of chemicals. The Doctor is brusque, delivering the news that if this stew doesn't work, he has a few months.
Been there. Our story: Same Doctor. Same news. Same M.O. Result: a few days, not a few months.
The players are different. The doctor is the same, but different, too. He misplaced his bedside manner. Her husband is suffering. She is suffering.
Her husband spends a lot of time on ebay, buying little classic cars displayed in plastic cases. Setting these little jewels round the perimeter of his home office.
She will be left with these little cars. And a complicated home business she and her husband have run together for decades. And no one to yell at.
She'll live on Widowhood Lane with me.
What's the point?
Have a lovely and very special day
My very special friends