March 16, 2008


Storm outside Las Vegas, 2006.

Duck: Still ok for a person with dementia. Sleeping and scratching in his sleep. I told the nurse, and she gave him his meds early. G talked to him for a little while.

Me: Walked, had a good day with G, Got to walk through the Cancer society thrift shop, wrote about Ba, ate with the Fanatical Feasters.

G: G’s going through his vastly over crowded closet today. Oh My!
There we were tucked under the blankets the shutters closed against the upcoming storm. Spooned into each other, we warded off the winter on our doorstep.

Twice during the night, rain roared down on our roof waking me to the world outside our walls. Two more times, I woke to thunder crashing overhead accompanying the grey haze of rain on the ceilings.

Our bedroom is a hollow drum on nights like these. During the day, the sound of heavy downpours are masked by cars and planes passing us by. The hiss of tires masks the drops hitting the roofs. Not at night. Even here in the inner city, often the only sound I hear is a dog barking far across the canyon or the warning chitter of a bird woken from it’s sleep.

Last night, I only woke enough to pull the covers up around my ears. Only enough to note the roar of rain or rumble of thunder far out to sea. It rained last night here in the desert.

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