Do Not Go Fractured

At the edge of our driveway, next to the rosemary bush in our herb garden, is a flat rock, suitable for sitting on. We call it Aunt Fran’s rock, named for a dear soul who used to perch on it when she looked after our three-year-old son.

I was sitting on that rock a few days ago when our six-year-old grandson started showing off his hoverboard. It’s essentially an axle you stand on, powered by an electric motor with a rechargeable battery. Next to each wheel is a flat pad where you position your feet. A couple green lights blink when the device powers up. It emits a series of friendly, robot-y beeps. 

Continue reading “Do Not Go Fractured”

Also Minerva

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The phone rings at 7:00 a.m. That’s never good.  I make an educated guess.

“Dad?”

“Tom.”  My brother.

They say she’s had a stroke, he tells me. It happened sometime after she went to bed last night. She’s breathing but that’s about it. “She probably can’t swallow,” he says. “There’s not much to be done for her.”  Our mother. Ninety-two years old.

“Dad?”

“He’s coming here first.  We’re going over there together.” Continue reading “Also Minerva”