Waiting Room Thoughts

Carting my parents has been an adventure. A friend best summarized life as cleaning, driving, shopping, doctors…and the list that never ends.

Initially I was resentful. But I understand being here (exiled to Long Island) is 100% necessary.

Sometimes I miss my home in Phoenix. However I turned my head there were mountains. My trusty mountain bike remains unused back west. The ability to go for quick scenic ride gone. (Perhaps the summer heat is not fondly remembered. But struggling up rocky mountains rewarded me with stunning views.)

But my presence here is necessary. My help has changed my parent’s lives. While me may argue I am here for them. Humor is found in the smallest places. And boy does it make me laugh. With less time to write but plenty time to observe I scribble. On my iPhone, on receipts, on discs. The memories are there. When the opportunity arises I share the experiences.

I shared this on Facebook:

Someone is eating a big greasy sandwich from McDonalds. (“Sandwich” is debatable.)

We are trapped in the waiting room at Zwanger. Much like hapless passengers on a flight. The smell of grease, cheese and salted fries wafting over us.

There is nowhere to go.

The generic version of an Oreo cookie I’m eating is not helping the pain. I don’t crave any fast food. I just want out. Out into the humid, moist Long Island air in Stony Brook. If the family obliges my future might have some Thai or Chinese in it.*

But for now I’m forced to smell the mass produced Value Meal fifteen feet away from me.

I’ve identified the perpetrator. Much like me he could hit the gym. I now judge his eating choices. He has invaded my air space.

We are not friends.

* With much gratitude food was had. Six minutes away to Lake Grove the Versa went to tease the palate at Wild Rice. This is my Yelp Review.


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