2001:November:12
11.12.2001

Aunt Marg was in the hospital for weeks recovering from her hip replacement. Uncle Jack, former engineer-turned-high school math teacher is 6'7. He held up a model of the fake joint and his eyebrows furrowed and his ears wiggled in skepticism. How could something so flimsy support so much weight and movement?

(His mother--my great-grandma Rose--used to wiggle her ears and juggle oranges and disappear behind the garden shed with men at parties).

Unle Jack may be cerebral, obsessive, and prone to dark ponderings, but there is no doubting he loves his wife. Witness him visit her every day, taking the long busride to the hospital with a small jar of butter for his wife (they don't give you real butter at the hospital). He likes the long bus ride because they take up time that he would otherwise spend at home alone. He misses her so much, he has lost his equilibrium and is prone to dizzy spells which is scary in such a tall man.

And even though Aunt Marg had once cornered me and warned me knowingly about the dangers of dating preoccupied intellectuals, she loves him to distraction.

Her face turns on like a lightbulb as she sees his tall frame walking down the flourescent, urine-reeking hallway, a book on nostradamus (or Louis Riel, his other obsession) tucked under one arm and a jar of fresh butter in the other.

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