I just called to say . . .

I probably haven't gone into too much detail about the holidays that I keep, but basically they can last 2-3 days or more. There's no driving around in your car. No shopping. You hang in the neighborhood, see friends and relatives who live nearby. You don't talk on the phone or use your computer or do anything work related. Nope, no teev, either.

By the time the holiday is over you've either gained 5 pounds or there's something seriously wrong with you.

I did my share.

Anyway, after sunset the day is officially over so I volunteered to take my 19-month old granddaughter off to the bathtub so she could go for a swim. R, her mother, waiting by the telephone to hear about a sick uncle, was happy for me to take over with the little tyke.

The kid's very talented and showed me her latest boating maneuvers and an impressive front float, head above water. Ours is a standard 1950's lime green bathtub. We're not talking a jacuzzi here.

I checked phone messages as the kid tired herself out. There was nothing on voice mail nearly as complicated as floating and not getting your hair wet. I had finally convinced her that hair can get wet and nobody gets hurt when the phone vibrated. It was my sister-in-law.

She never calls on a Saturday night.

I got nervous. Bad things have been happening lately. Last week, just before the last holiday, we lost a family member, a young man, only 50. He'd been ill, but no one expected that call. And now R's uncle, also a young man, is really not doing well. These are my peers. People who could have gone to my high school.

S-i-l wanted a recipe for my apple cake.

After I got the baby to sleep on my shoulder while reading aloud from a professional social work book marketing brochure, I went downstairs to do some dishes and call my mom. I never call her on Saturday night. There's something about it, Saturday night. It's always been date night in my head, even though FD and I rarely go out. But my parents used to get baby sitters and go out on Saturday nights.

They're in their 80's (K'H). Dad answered.

"Yello," he said.

He seemed happy to hear from me, but not surprised or anything. Nothing fazes my father. Hardly anything.

"Hi Dad, how're you?"

"We just walked in. We were out with Lenore and Sammy," he said.

Well, of course.

"Did you have fun?"

"Sure, we just came home for a bite to eat."

Sure.

"I'll let you talk to Mom."

You can tell by the way she answers that she's happy that I called.

"How was yuntif (the holiday)?" she exclaims. "How are the kids? It seems like so long. It feels like a week since I've seen or talked to any of you."

It's been 3 days. They're long 3 days.

"Yuntif was great by us, how's by you?"

I'm working on my Yiddish accent. You know that as a Jew ages a Yiddish accent becomes mandatory.

"Very nice. Lenore and Sammy are over."

Of course.

"I'm so glad you called," Mom said. "You and I never talk on Saturday night."

"I know. I just called to say, well, to say hi. You know."

"That was so nice."

"So you guys are okay?"

"Sure. We're fine. It was great that you called."

There's more to that conversation. We were both pretty animated, but still, I don't want to bore you with the details. Basically, you probably know the punchline, why I wrote the post. Right?

It's one of those Don't Hesitate posts. If you think you should make a call, don't hesitate.

You don't think twice.


therapydoc

Doe a Dear

After I put out all that serotonin to post a blog like yesterday's, I get all warm and fuzzy and just want to talk about FD.

Our Sundays are work days since we don't work on Saturdays, which means that the day as in, day off, doesn't begin until late afternoon. I get home around 3:00, starving, make us some sandwiches, check email, and take a nap, not necessarily in that order. FD is in there somewhere, usually the sandwich part.

We love national holidays because for sure nobody wants to see the doctor on a national holiday. NOBODY is sick when there's a barbeque, root beer, or a better offer. So we'll pack up a lunch on those delicious Mondays off, rack the bikes to the back of the car, wave at the neighbor's kids on our sidewalk, and drive off into the sun to find a state park or a paved-over railroad that the Illinois Bicycle Association has recommended.

These paved trails go on for 5-10 miles through farmlands and small towns. They're the yellow-brick-roads for grown-ups.

No, you're right, that's not enough exercise, but okay. At least we get away, and there's a culture to adapt to with this kind of trip. Mainly, you have to smile at bike riders coming at you from the opposite direction on the other side of the line. Better yet, say hello.

MEMORIAL DAY:

A blue bird-- royal blue, never seen the likes of it before.

Several very nice butterflies

One dead cicada that I bagged for my grandson, E, and sent to California in a plain #10 envelope. E told me last night that the cicada arrived, quite smashed by the postal service, probably from canceling the stamp. Pity.

And a doe. Or two does. Or is that, two doe. Two sightings of one doe. I don't know. What does a person do with two does? Here she is.


The ride was deceptively easy. For example, there were path markers to tell us how far we'd gone, but it seemed the mile markers were off. I would never have believed that the "mile" was really a "mile." Maybe it was 3/4 of a mile. But not a mile. Yet if that were the case, then why I crashed physically, like hardly ever before from a bike trip (it's like child-birth, you just don't remember the pain) when I finally got home that Monday evening is a mystery to me. But I did. Sleep, I mean. Much better than usual.

I always want to tell people with sleep problems, try moving your body a little. Move a few muscles. Quit asking us for drugs.

Are you waiting for the adventure? Kankakee State Park is not an adventure. It's a hilly park along the Kankakee River and Bambi lives there, along with a couple of birds, butterflies, and mostly dead cicadas. The kids who took our picture had never used a camera before, which is why all you get is Bambi.

We did the 20 miles in a couple of hours and left the park for home. FD really wanted ice cream, and lucky for us the liquor store in town had. . . Ice cream! Ben and Jerry's yet! Cherry Garcia, Chocolate Fudge Brownie in cute little one-serving containers with spoons attached to the covers. Only two hundred calories per serving.

My kind of town, Kankakee.

FD had the wheel and took the long way home, passed through Joliet.
Motto: If it's fun, it's in Downtown Joliet.

At some point I break into that Stevie Wonder song, I Believe if I Fall in Love with You it Will be Forever. Remember that song? Talking Book, I think. I can see FD thinking the notes out in his head. He'll play it later at night on the piano and he'll have the song just right, even though he's never heard Stevie sing it and it's not in my range.

A sign says Romeoville, and although I've had patients from Romeoville, I've never been to Romeoville.

Used cars, The Place for Ribs, Laser Wash, Dunkin' Donuts, Speedway, On the Rock Bar & Grill, road kill, Big Old Coon, Route 53, White Fence Farm, La Grou Trucking, Montana Charlie's Flea Market. We're still an hour from home.

I've got patients who work at La Grou, he says. And so do I, probably, I think. It strikes me as strange, however, that we're way, way far away from our offices in the city and people will drive that distance to see a doctor.

But that's what happens when you get attached to people, you'll drive a ways to see them. Or you'll drive that far to get away on a holiday.

Father's Day will be this Sunday. I'll miss my nap.

But lunch is made, and because my bro doesn't live in the city, there's a good chance that Bambi might be there!

Copyright 2007, therapydoc