Bittersweet

I feel guilty writing it, but I had a wonderful weekend with FoilMormor, the Second Mate, and LOS. I travelled to see FoilMormor and the Second Mate because the Second Mate's medicine for myelofibrosis has stopped working and his time is now measured in weeks, possibly months, if he's lucky (or not). We had a great visit.

The Second Mate is wasted and weak and so thin it's painful to look at him. The Prednisone he takes has made his skin (I think) susceptible to bruising. But the Prednisone relieves the pain, so he's not taking heavy duty opiates, and he is himself. We had some nice meals and a good visit. I'm not sure what I accomplished by being there, but it was good to see him and talk with him once more. And it was wonderful to see FoilMormor, who was actually in great spirits. LOS, FoilMormor and I floated in the Atlantic a bit, and we just chatted away.

LOS and I stayed in a hotel near FoilMormor and the Second Mate's condo, and we had a great time there, too. South Florida in July was cooler than DC, so I wasn't even miserable. Saturday morning, LOS and I sat by the hotel pool and were a bit non-plussed when a fifty-ish shirtless* man strutted past us several times. We tried to decide: did he want one of us to do something? Was he just stretching? But he had that peacock walk, you know, chest out, gut sucked in, and kept looking over at us. Does this technique work? Personally, I think just saying: "Hey, I'm Bob, who are you?" works better, but what do I know.

LOS was laughing so hard, because I'd been explaining the fiction of the man shortage to her, and I think she saw the evidence with her own eyes.

Then we remembered why we were in Florida and we both wondered why the peacock was in apparently good health when our lovely stepfather was not. We're mean that way.

But all in all, a good visit. We saw the Second Mate. We visited with him. We comforted our mother. And LOS and I got to hang out with each other. Not bad at all.

*Men of the universe, please note: fifty-ish and shirtless do not belong in the same sentence, no matter how fit you think you are. Trust me on this. You are not helping your cause.
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