It’s over a week since April fool’s day. It doesn’t matter because I feel at times as though I’m a fool every day. It seems I’ve been a very bad Dad. Yes, I’m feeling terribly guilty, and sorry for myself today. Let me explain.

Samuel, Ruth’s husband came to the BIG NEEDLE for a visit yesterday afternoon. He found me in the lounge arguing with my cronies, Jim and Peter. Our perennial argument is about President Bush. They’re for him. I’m against him, and I don’t understand how any sane person can be for him. But, then, I'm in the minority around here, and a small one at that.

“He wants to take away our social security,” I said.

“He isn’t going to touch our social security. All he wants to do is give young folks the opportunity to put some of their social security into private accounts.

“You think ten years from now all those young folks in this country who have lost part of their social security to failing private accounts are going to let us old folks keep our 100% social security?”

“Yes, I do. But it doesn’t matter because I won’t be here anyway.”

“Yeah, right. Who cares, we’ll all be dead,” I said sarcastically as Mrs. Herr, the Assistant Administrator approached with Samuel in tow.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, please. You’ve become quite loud. Isaac, you have a visitor.”

“I see. Hi Sam.” I introduced him to Peter and Jim. “So what brings you all the way cross county to the Big Needle?”

“Just a social call, Isaac.”

“Everyone’s Okay, Ruth, the children?”

“Yes, everyone is fine. You’ve probably heard more recently from Abe and Joseph than we have.”

“Not a thing, but I did talk to Adam for an hour the other day. You know how the kids are with these cell phones. He’s got to use all those minutes.”

“Isaac, there is something I think we need to discuss in private.”

“I thought so. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us.” I led the way to my apartment, which is about a quarter mile walk from the central lounge. I walked as fast as I could through several zigzag turns in the long windowless corridors of state regulation width. They’re wide enough to fit a hospital bed – though why, I don’t know, since I’m in the independent living part of the Prickly Needle complex. Pine Needle is a complete retirement community and includes Assisted Living A and B wings, independent living wings A through E, and the Nursing complex I facetiously refer to as “The Morgue.”

“What’s your hurry Isaac?”

“Just trying to wear you out, Sam.”

“You’ll have a heart attack.”

“I doubt it. I go to the health club 3 to 4 times a week and do stair climbing as well as light weights for 45 minutes to an hour. Probably get more exercise in a week than you do in a month.”

“More like a year.”

“Well, we’re here,” I said as I unlocked the door. “You haven’t seen my apartment have you, Sam?”

“Oh, come on! It isn’t that bad, Isaac. I was here during the Christmas holiday.”

“That’s right,” I said pretending to have forgotten. “I recall now. You came to pick me up for Christmas Eve candlelight services. Have a seat.” I motioned toward my over-stuffed chair by the picture window. It looks out onto manicured grassy lawns planted with rows of blue spruce and pin oak that break the view of wing after wing of the Big Needle as the complex marches up the low sloping hill toward the apartment complex I have christened ‘Single Divorced Mom Manor.’ “Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got some scotch, orange juice, and diet caffeine free Coke.

“No thanks.”

“So, out with it then.”

“I don’t know how to broach the subject exactly, Isaac.”

“Just say it, Sam.”

“Isaac. You’ve got to clean up that pornographic blog of yours.”


(To be continued)


*Our farm, "Orchard Hill," is located near Paradise, Pennsylvania Samuel and Ruth live there.


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