In Which mrpeenee Returns to the Old Country


Well, here I am in Texas, land of my birth and home of a bakery that spells one of their offerings as “petifores.”  Oh god.

My brother Mike has entered a hospice as part of the final stage of his cancer.  I decided to come visit, but now I’m not sure why. 1) the hospice is three hours away, much closer to Diane von Austinburg and I’m unclear on how much visiting I’ll be able to do and 2) my other brother Ed says Mike is pretty befogged by morphine.  I vividly remember how little R Man  was in touch at that point.  But I want to see Mike’s wife, who is absolutely charming and I want to show support.  Or something.   Whatever, I’m straightening my Florence Nightengale cap, prepared to visit the shit out of whoever will see me.

So I’m here, tucked into a nice hotel in a sort of out of the way neighborhood.  Its location makes it all the odder that the professional football teams playing against Houston stay here.  The hotel is always very coy about admitting that, but Secret Agent Fred and I ran into them last time we were here and they were checking in.  Believe me, it’s not easy to hide a lobby-full of gigantic tightends lummoxing about.  Just now I was squeezed into an elevator with three of them and I thought I might faint.



Baby, let me tell you, those are some big mens.

13 responses »

  1. Oh, dear – these journeys do seem to get more frequent as we go, don’t they? I hope this one is as pleasant as possible. At least you’ll some some potential eye-candy in your downtime, and the possibility of seeing the Divine Diane.


  2. You had me at “a lobby-full of gigantic tightends lummoxing about” Otherwise probably good to go visit, no matter how hard. It will be comforting for all. And after playing nurse just go back to the lobby.


  3. Oh dear.
    I’m so sorry to hear about your brother, Mike.
    I’m going to say a prayer…well, just because it’s what I do.

    Btw, I’m pretty sure there’s a St. Petifore actually, right?


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