Once again, I am writing from beneath a warm quilt and high-count cotton sheets. I feel a bit like Marat in his bath although I’m fairly certain no one from the political opposition is on the way to stab me. It’s just that the oldest child is asleep on a cot in the front room, and it’s hardly his fault I get up early or failed to build a retirement home with enough extra bedrooms to accommodate my children.

Anyway, the band played on yesterday, and we’ve settled on a name, sort of, Dave and the Wiggly-fingered Zombies. We added Dave when my oldest, Gabe, said he didn’t really want to be in a band called the Wiggly-Fingered Zombies, and thought it should be Gabe with the Wiggly-fingered Zombies. His brother offered a compromise and the majority excepted it. I explained I had a friend named Dave who actually is a good guitarist, and they said that would be alright. If he played with us, his name would cancel out Dave and we’d just be the Wiggly-fingered Zombies.

Yesterday, the part of Dave was played by Cotton Gin Rob to good effect. He joined us after his nine-pin bowling league finished. We rewarded him for his daring with a meal and a beer, after which we got him a chair and performed a bunch of songs. My favorite was Blue Moon of Kentucky. I think with enough practice we might be on to something, the only question is, what? An undefined something can often be something else or something all together different. So, you need to be careful. Suffice it to say we made what we determined to be music and we’re going to do it again and again.

 John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale