Home From the Hospital

With forefinger and thumb I can again encircle my wife Elsa's ankle. Haven't been able to do that for quite some months. Things are lookin' up. Did I tell you how the baby, Mark Andrew, got home? He'd stayed at the hospital for a couple of days to make sure his mild jaundice condition improved. Alone, I took him home two or three miles away while baby lay on the floor on the front passenger side of the van (? Mazda, seats 6, of necessity now) bundled up and cushioned: safest by far no matter what the police say. Of course speed never above about 35 mph. Well, I still haven't mastered the Graco infant car seat, so I improvized. Lacking a baby car seat, a kind doctor carried the baby in the elevator from the fifth floor, then to the street exit across from Burger King where I was parked. From then on I took over, waving goodbye. Mark slept the whole time. This boy is easy to get along with: co-operates, smiles all the time, seems ready for speech at any moment. His eyes are brown but there's green in there too. Kidding around we call him the "White Guy gringo." But that's private. His hair isn't black as it seemed at first: it's dark brown. His skin is white. Elsa's father was a,'white guy Spaniard from Spain.' He died 30 years ago.

The hospital called this morning to get a report on our experience of the staff and conditions. Elsa was still asleep so I took the phone blubbered my wild enthusiasm for their kindness, efficiency, skill, and tact. I think the caller might have been blubbering too at the end. Celebration of life.

Barry