It's Theodore's seventy-seventh birthday! That's him up there wirh Benjamin in a recent photograph.
Everyone wants to know what we'll do to celebrate his birthday, but the truth is, there is nothing to tell. He says he doesn't want to do anything!
I am sure that way back there , somewhere in his most secret heart, there is something he would like more than anything---if he even knows it. He can't share it if he doesn't know what it is.
One thing would be that he wants me to get rid of the excess stuff in this house. And I am working on it, I am working on it. Yesterday I worked on it by buying a Venetian glass chandelier at a garage sale for five dollars. This enraged him, I fear. This chandelier is a work of tinkly sparkly beauty, or at least it will be when the encrusted dust of thirty years is cleaned off of it. It is fine.
Theodore still bears the bruises and marks from his fall two weeks ago. His face is remarkably improved. I thought he'd have that blackened and bruised eye for weeks, but it will be gone by the time we get to Cedar Rapids. But when he went to bed I noticed that his right thigh, which had been inspected more than once by the Kaiser ER as well as myself, is very very bruised in a large area. A huge dark bruise is there now, where it was not before. Coumadin! We should be calling the nurse but he won't hear of it. Or anything else.
I guess old gentlemen are like old gladiators. The only way they choose to celebrate milestones is by counting their wounds and their survivals. Entonces, que viva Teodoro! YAZZYBEL
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