Bring Me Your Tired, Your Weary, Your Despondent...

I had called my father at work and told him to call me when he got home. I said I would drive over and get my cigarettes and two cokes saving him the drive to my house. I was trying to make things easy on him. He is so kind every night to bring me those things.

The phone rang as the clock was inching towards 9 PM and I answered.

"I'm ready for you," my father told me. "Give Maggie fresh food and water before you come."

When I walked outside, George was sitting in his cranked car smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer. I shook my head and chuckled. I put my car in drive and sped off to my father's house. I noticed three police cars with lights blazing at the house on the corner.

Dad had ordered a large pizza and only ate like two slices and gave me the rest. I called it tonight's bonus round and he laughed.

"Are you feeling lots of withdrawal?" my father asked me worriedly since we quit taking Benadryl Sunday.

"I've felt pretty good," I told him. "It is more psychosomatic than anything. I miss the ritual."

I took Benadryl every night for years and years.

"I worked only 5 hours and I'm pooped," dad told me as I was heading out the door. "It's a long time to stand on your feet."

Samantha came scurrying inside as soon as I opened the screen door.

"That's one busy cat," I told my father laughing.

"She'd go in and out all day if given the choice," my father replied.

I talked my father into giving me two packs of cigarettes tonight as he has to work all day tomorrow. I called it my emergency pack. He balked some but gave in.