excellent restaurant.
He wanted hibachi so "Max" was our performing chef. Lemme run in the kitchen and check my sugar.1 3 4. Very good. My endo, Laura Fitzpatrick, said thother day, she likes seeing my name on her roster b/c I take such good c/o myself. Her son Brooks is now two, like our Max.
I just asked Dave to take my photo.
What's your healthiest bread, I asked him. He handed me this multi-grain bread.
Last nite I awaited Dave's arrival from Houston to the Phila a/port. He rented a car - a white Chevy - and got horribly lost.
He arrived at 2:11 am. I was asleep on my red couch, watching a film noir on YouTube.
After breakfast and coffee, we got in his white Chevy and drove to the Emmanuel Johnson Funeral Home on Chew Avenue in Germantown.
I just sent them an email stating "The word 'commitment' has only one T.
Altho we got horribly lost, we finally found the funeral home and were not late.
Dan said this was his first experience as a pallbearer.
What does pall mean, we wondered. "And a pall fell over the room." Yeah, but what means that?
A pallbearer is one of several participants who helps carry the casket at a funeral. A pall, which recalls the white garments given in baptism, as well as the Resurrection of Christ at Easter, is the heavy (usually white-coloured) cloth that is draped over a coffin.[1] The term "pallbearer" is used to signify someone who bears the coffin which the pall covers.
We were given flowers, mainly roses, to put on the casket. We did the same thing at my brother David's funeral in Cleveland.
Then we drove back to the funeral home where we ate in an air-conditioned rotunda.
I begged Dan to drive me home, he said No, so I asked some people where they lived. Charlie suggested I get an Uber cab. No, I said, that will cost money.
Finally Dan relented. We drove straight to B&N where his family was hanging out. Twas great seeing the kids. Sharon works in the children's dept and knows Grace and Max quite well. I told her we just came from a funeral.
We call that a "homecoming," said Sharon, who's black.
My goodness, I told her, I wrote a poem for my sister/law called "Welcome Home."
WELCOME HOME
They stood on the front porch
awaiting her arrival
still wearing her nightgown
her back was turned
as she waved goodbye to
Jeffrey, her black bearded
husband who was good to her
and then to Charlie, oh that was
hard, saying goodbye to that
fun-lovin son of hers she still
wanted to crush in her arms.
Shaking her snowy-white curly
hair, she suddenly began to
skip, aware of a new lightness,
as if her body was a floating green
hummingbird headed
toward its new home.
They waved to her from the
porch. I know them, she thought,
my god, they're all here. Have they
assembled on my account? What
have I done to please them? I'm
just a simple girl.
Daddy, she cried, running into
his arms. The smell of Rolling
Rock no longer shrouded him
like a cloud. He lifted her high
in the air. “My darling
girl. How I have missed thee.”
"Betty," he said to the woman
in the rocker. "Look, who's come
at last. Our fearless little daredevil."
Kay ran into the arms of her mom.
"So proud of you, Sweetheart," said
mom. "We watched you on TV,
O Union Negotiator and Peace Corps
volunteer.”
Kay laughed and set herself down
on the rocker. Any music up here?
Or that great Lebanese
food Mom used to make? Baba
genoush?
Relax. Sit. The silent hands
will serve you. Piano music
filled the air. Claire de Lune
better than ever. Perhaps
they were on the moon.
Kay patted her puffy white
curls. “I think this is
what they mean by
bliss,” she allowed.
Bliss. Ecstasy. Euphoria.
Still, she thought of black-
bearded Joffrey, as she called
him playfully, and that ever-lovin’
son of theirs, Charlie, the
newest daredevil Deming
left on earth to cause havoc
under the sun. That’s
my boy.
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