The Echo

So Dad says he “deleted the internet” again last night and somehow disabled use of his phone “because it was talking Spanish,” forcing him to walk over to Gerry’s house to call me about the time change for today’s echocardiogram, his 129th this year.  He really loves these echos. I think he’s going for the record. Dad is repeating this story as we sit here early Friday morning waiting for the sonographer to call him in. He’s part investigative reporter, part conspiracy theorist: “You know I think your mom had something to do with it – she was watching the yourtube when it happened.”  You mean You Tube dad? I said. “I don’t know whose tube it is…I just know she is probably to blame. But don’t tell her I said that. She’s making her spaghetti tonight.” It’s interesting watching my folks navigate life in their 80s, learning how to live in what must seem like a foreign world at times, holding on to familiarity like the tinker bell held onto her Reese’s on Halloween this week, feeling lost without the routines of work they once had – it’s not unlike our kids navigating life in their 20s, on their own in a big city, grub hubbing Chipotle with the $13 they have in their account like they did when they were 15, feeling part lost, part over their head but doing best they can. I suppose my bride and I may not be much different in our 80s as things like artificial intelligence force us to God only knows what…take a George Jetson style helicopter to the actual clouds to see our sonographer? I guess until then we’ll just have to enjoy the lighter moments coming of age, and aging.