A simple quiet life

    I have a simple quiet life, which I enjoy deeply. You could call it boring. If you call it pathetic, I won't fight you over it. I read a lot and write a little. I do nearly all my own cooking. I play with the kitty and get yelled at by her for infractions against the Kitty Code that I wasn't aware I was committing. (As I don't speak Kitty, I still don't know what they are.) Maybe it isn't an exciting life, but I like it.
    My dad's situation is scary because it means changes sooner or later. We hope for later and much later at that. The deal was that he was going to live to 100 and we're holding him to that. When he dies, maybe I'll be rich; I haven't done the math. But I'd much rather stay poor and have my dad. The simple quiet life is enough for me.
    Yesterday in Dadville went well. He walked around in the morning with the physical therapist. He said he needed a lot of help to walk, but as I pointed out, it hasn't even been a week since the operation. He ate a lot better and he slept a lot better and he seemed in good spirits. Obviously, we'd rather see an instantaneous recovery, but stability is good, too. We are still hopeful for a near-complete recovery in the longer run.