That's me in the corner losing my voice

I am now on Round 3 of antibiotics. I completely lost my voice overnight Sunday night, which made for a truly excellent day at work on the phone Monday, where people either couldn't understand my name or thought I was saying "this is Billy," because my "Ms" didn't work. I'm starting to think I could be a case on "House," where they figure out that all the diet Coke in my system has dissolved my ability to respond to antibiotics. Either that, or I'm going to find a shaman or holistic healer to chant the bad germs back to hell.

Because I'm still sick, I can't make my the mini-memorial all my dad's friends are planning this weekend. Even if I'm better, there's camping and woods involved, so that would be the thing that caused my two white blood cells Marv and Herb to just give up and drink hemlock. I really wanted to go, even if there was camping involved, (I actually sorta thought they were kidding when they told me to bring a sleeping bag and pillow) because these men, who I called "Uncle," were friends with my dad for over 50 years. They all kept in touch that long, three or four of them were pallbearers, and they are the ones that got the unvarnished, twinkly, mischievous version of Daddy to whom I had such a connection.

I was really looking forward to being in that place, that camp that meant so much to him for so many years, and feeling his presence and the fellowship of those who loved him so much. I talk to him all the time, though. Most of the time, it's not out loud, just so parents in the grocery store won't remove their children from my general area. If I see something that reminds me of him, I just sort of think, "Daddy, look at that shrimp. How many pounds of that do you think you could eat?" or "Daddy, they're showing the Making of Jaws on AMC. I'm totally recording it." or "I saw Cool Hand Luke all the way through last night, and I remember all your commentary when I saw it for the first time."

So, even though I can't be there to celebrate him with others, I celebrate him every day with little things and telling people how funny and what a smart ass he was. I got his best qualities..haha...and then some of his worst..my skinny, chicken legs and complete lack of an ass..Oh, well, in the immortal words of "The Facts of Life," "You take the good, you take the bad...." That Mrs. Garrett was a wise woman.