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I said goodbye last night. Not that it mattered; every time I came into the room, we met anew. I was alternately a stranger, my own father, a son, and on rare happy occasions, myself. My grandfather knows that he is in a fog, recognition and memories just beyond reach, and it frustrates him. Then he goes back to the television and it no longer matters. I don’t know how to react. I am happy for the sparks of recognition, but still I miss my grandfather.

Get off my damned lawn! And quit stealing my apples . . .

Maybe 40 is old after all. I spent 5 minutes this morning searching for my cell phone. It took a bit longer than usual to find it as I had only one hand free to sift through newspapers on the table, clothes scattered on the bed, etc. in my quest for the phone. My other hand was otherwise unavailable, holding my cell phone.

There are benefits to getting older. My children seem to be aging as well, so now I’ve got yard-slaves. Sure, they are even lazier than I was at that age, but I can usually get one of them to mow at least half a lawn and maybe pull some weeds. I would say my kids and their peers are a bunch of spoiled brats — the worst ever — but I am pretty sure (assuming you believe the Christian creation myth) that the first parents to make that statement were Adam and Eve. And every generation of parents since have echoed that sentiment. So, are they really that bad, or is it that with age and wisdom comes self-delusion and selective memory?

Actually, Adam and Eve, the incestuous freaks that begat us all*, were children of God. Perhaps credit for first complaining about “kids these days” should go to him. In spite of all their flaws, my children are quite biblical. They are constantly tromping through the garden (usually crushing garlic or seedlings), and come summer, I’m pretty sure they’ll be out there stealing apples. We don’t seem to have any snakes around us, so they will have to content themselves talking to wasps instead — we have plenty of those. My son may not be able to walk on water or turn water into wine, but he is a whiz at turning water into urine and passing water on the roses. And every time I find my tools and various pieces of once-useful lumber out in the yard, both children are as innocent as lambs.

* Yes, I am once again making an assumption that you either believe the Goddite stuff or have at least heard the fables.