RaisingDad

It's been raining all night and morning.  The street in front of my house is a running creek, full of water.  The backyard is a collection of miniature ponds, and everything in between those ponds is mud.  The mud is six inches deep.  Why my wife wants to go shopping in this kind of weather is beyond me.      "This is the kind of weather to stay inside and read a good book," I tell her.      "We're going shopping," she tells me.      "I can make us both a nice cup of coffee..." I tell her.      "We're going shopping," she tells me.      "...and we can cuddle up under some blankets and fool around," I tell her.      "We're going shopping," she tells me, and she even gives me the stink-eye for emphasis.  Of course, she's just being facetious.  I think.      I guess we're going shopping....

My Dad walks every day-- EVERY day--rain or shine.      Today was not only one of the shine days, but it was also one of the hot days.  The very hot days.  I try to pass along this information to him, but if there's one thing I've learned from dealing with my Dad, it's that I can't deal with my Dad.      "Dad," I tell him, "it's hot outside."      "No, it's not."      "Sure it is."      "No, it's not."      "Dad, I was just outside.  It's hot."      "It feels cool to me."      "It feels cool to you, because we're inside the house.  Outside, it's hot."      But my Dad isn't really listening to me.  He's trying on the new pair of Nike walking shoes that I've just brought him from Tucson.      "Yeah," he tells himself, "these feel good.  It's just what ...