babinscreams

After Dad died, I phoned Dr. Whitaker's Corporate Headquarters where a nice lady offered her condolences when I asked her to stop the never-ending deluge of literature and magazines and vitamin ads and seminar invitations emanating from the good Doctor. The cards and letters kept coming, though the magazine stopped after the subscription ran out, but they were nice enough to offer my father several opportunities to renew. When I called the second time, I got another nice lady who offered her condolences; I think I was a little hot under the collar. Now today, I get this nice card in the mail, addressed to my father. Wow, Doctor Whitaker really does care! Had I known....Damn, I'm so embarrassed. I imagine the cremation rules out any chance of a "full" recovery.

My mother was all about pink. From the dress and shoes she wore on her wedding day to the plastic, kitsch knick-knacks that populated her life to the end. The pink plastic mirror that I've been using for a candle holder made a pass at the shoes last night. I had to photograph it.