If it's Tuesday, it must be Tuesday.

 If it’s Tuesday, it must be Tuesday. 

Uncle Albert has come to visit. He was here on Friday, when I came home. Roz brought me. We stopped for dinner on the way, a place we used to like. I had a fried-green tomato, bacon, and lettuce sandwich, except the lettuce was kale, I think, and it was cooked (like the bacon and the tomato). Roz had something else.

     Then we came home, and Uncle Albert was here. And he was here the next day and the next, when we watched association football and went to church; and yesterday, too, he was here.

And today. He is here to “keep an eye on me.” That’s what he said last night, when I asked him how long he was going to stay. Keep an eye on me while Roz is at work I think he means.

Roz had already gone to work, and he was sitting at the kitchen table, when I came down. He looked uncomfortable. He’s 96 years old, after all, and he is very thin – he sits on his bones.

     I poured a cup of coffee. I said, “You look uncomfortable.” He said, “I’m uncomfortable even when I’m asleep.”

     “Oh,” I said.

The coaches won.

He said, “We didn’t watch the game last night.” I said, “What game?” He said, “The American football game.”

     “Who was playing?” I said. I thought, “I’ve lost track.” I thought, “I don’t even know what game he’s talking about.”

     He said, “Alabama and Clemson.”  “Oh,” I said, trying to put into my voice that I understood what that meant. “Who won?” I asked.

     “Oh,” he said. “The coaches won. And the advertisers.”

I looked at the clock. It wasn’t 9:00 yet. I take a nap after lunch. Then, I can have another cup of coffee.

    

01.10.17