Vincent Murphy

is not doing so well. I guess for 99 he's doing as well as can be expected. But he was up at night a couple of times, and when I came down this morning at 6:15 I found a worried Mrs. Murphy waiting for me. I'll call the family doctor at 9:00, who will most likely say "take him to the emergency room." That's the standard procedure when you're 99.

Yesterday I walked past Cooper's Pond, where Mr. Murphy used to take me to feed the ducks and geese, and there were young moms there with their little kids. It made me sad and happy at the same time because the pond was closed for several years, all fenced off, and nobody was able to take their little kids there. My father used to tell me stories, great stories that I will have here in my heart forever, and take pictures of me. I am squinting against the sun in some; in others I am pinch faced because some goose just nipped a bread crust from my hand. I'm glad that Coopers Pond is open again, but I wish I could take Mr. Murphy there.

Yesterday I cut his hair and took a picture of him with a moist red washcloth on his head, waiting for my scissors and the shaver. I'll post it later.

I'll let you in on a secret. I want Mr. Murphy to live forever. I am sad.

MNYAGG