Dad called after his most recent chemo on Wednesday to say he felt OK. A bit tired, of course. He's lost three pounds, which may be the most since he was diagnosed. But he thinks the next chemo won't be as harsh. He spends his days watching baseball and sleeping; if I send him the DVD of the play, he might finally call the cable folks to hook the player to the new HDTV configuration. He again mentioned buying me a new lawnmower, but he shouldn't worry about that now. I don't want to dismiss something he wants to do, but I told him we can do it later. Because I'm convinced there will be a later.
We had dinner with the play director and his wife last night, and he threw me a curve. Remember that play he had me read and comment on? Turns out he wasn't so much grooming me for a part as testing me. And I passed. He asked me to join the Play Selection Committee for the theatre. I get to read and recommend shows. I was handed four scripts last night, and I'll start one today during lunch. It's volunteer, but this is nothing less than fate challenging me after I spent years complaining about the theatre offerings.
I again got up early to draw the page, and I managed to sketch through two panels. I now have three days to draw, ink, color, and letter the page. But I can do it.
Picture of the Day
That's what I'm talking about.