In the all the years I've been driving home to San Antonio from Austin, I always play a little game: I try and predict the first song I can pick up on one of the local rawk stations. Back in the day, my picks usually came from the same mixed bag of Van Halen, Santana, Pink Floyd, Rush, ZZ Top, or Black Sabbath, and over 20 years later, those are still pretty safe bets. So imagine my joy when I could finally tune in on Friday, somewhere around Canyon Lake, and the opening strains of "Eruption" filled my car. And within the first 20 minutes I was in range, I heard the new Black Sabbath song TWICE, the second time being as I drove up to the Christ the King bookstore to buy a First Communion gift. Ozzy really nails that one.
Other things that never change? My parents. My sweet dad, trying so hard to help, vacillating between doing the same thing over and over and nothing at all. My patient mom, a full foot shorter than my dad, following along in his wake, cleaning and shaking her head as she goes. Of course, this weekend, she was laid up from her surgery, so my dad had the run of the house. Which is why I had to go help. When I got there, the first thing she said was:
What is he thinking? He told me to call him if I needed anything, and when I did need him to help me do the stupid physical therapy, I called and called and called, and he never came! He forgets that he can't HEAR anything! When he finally came, I told him that, so he ran downstairs and brought back this stupid whistle. What am I supposed to do with this? I have asthma! And I just had surgery! I couldn't blow that damn thing if the house was on fire. What is he thinking?
44 years this summer, y'all. Love it.