Descent

My father drummed darkness
Through the underbrush
Until lightning struck

I take after him

Clouds crowd the sky
Around me as I run
Downhill on a high–
I am my motherís son
Born long ago
In the stormís eye

Samuel Menashe

I talked to my sister yesterday. The conversation’s theme the same as it has been for weeks – what to do with our parents? However, this time we ended with a tidy plan.

I said, “Letís keep it a secret for now.”

Fifteen minutes later my brother, Brian, called. He told me his flight back from Evansville was flawless. “Greased””is the word he used. I told him it was payback given how difficult his visit had been. He continued, “But that’s not the real reason I called. Joan told me you had a secret plan… .”

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Diane and I danced in the kitchen last night while we prepared dinner. We listened to Willie Nelson sing from his greatest hits album – songs like Remember Me and Georgia on my Mind.

“If only the music were better,” Diane whispered in my ear.

“I love this music.”

“I know. Iím afraid weíre going to end up in the South listening to Country and Western.”

“And Old Time Radio.”

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Matt brought his tux home last night for his upcoming prom on the 28th. He has been pretty quiet about the event, but not Diane. Holy cow. Youída thought it was her prom. “When are you getting picked up in the limo? When can we take pictures? Will other parents be there? What are you doing afterwards? Are you staying out all night? When does the tux have to be returned.”

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Peter leaves Evansville this morning for an almost two week conference in San Fransico.