Because Quentin’s birthday falls on July 6th, in 1982 we invited quite a few people in the neighborhood in Palatine to join us to celebrate the anniversary of the United States and Quentin’s first birthday. His cake was made of many, many little cupcakes forming a U.S. flag.

They are on me to go to now, so maybe more later.

Ah, little blond boy with the scent of sunshine in your hair, how I have loved you.

I am at an ebb tide, not writing much, although that is not to say I have not been thinking. Then, again, it is not to say that I have been doing just that. More than anything I have been on the chicken with the cut off head side of the line, that is: a little disorganized, flighty and psychologically pacing and wringing my hands.

It is interesting on this side of the (head off) chicken line, but not exactly where one would choose to vacation. I have the sensation it is a daytime version of one of those near nightmares where nothing really big is wrong, but every little thing just doesn’t appear to be working out.

The nursing home was depressing tonight. Some people are sharp in the moment, but lost in deafness and bad eyesight. I am reminded on one of those stuffed animals with a battery that animates them for a little while if you squeeze a hand or poke a tummy. But when  you have squeezed or poked and the comprehension is bright in the eyes and then it gives way to closed eyelids, it is light watching a firefly. What thoughts are in someone’s mind between the stimulation? Do they wait for it or do they just want it to fade away?

One gentleman, who quite frankly got on my nerves last summer when his booming voice dominated the dining room and when he went from table to table telling the same joke, tonight greeted me with a big smile and said, “You travel 116 miles to see her.” I didn’t realize how much he had failed recently and instead of agreeing, I said only came a few miles. He had been proud that he thought he was aware of and remembered something and I watched his face fall.

I came home and played a little game on my phone that involves manipulating numbers in a square and finally figured out the pattern  to get moves possible, and then I slipped and clicked a number in the wrong place and there was no undo. Oh, well, I probably won’t stick with it because now that I understand it is just too easy to sit there and make a crucial misstep with your finger and Poof!, you’re done for.

I think I will read for awhile and then close my eyes. Unlike Scarlett O’Hara, I don’t believe I’ll think about tomorrow.