So, I talked to my Dad this afternoon.
He is home from the hospital and seems to be doing well. The big problem now is arranging care for my mom and making some modifications that will allow her to do some things that had previously been handled by my dad.
My wretched sibling has been down there with them since I left on Sunday.
Dad said he is feeling pretty good. He goes until he gets tired, then stops. Sounds like a pretty good plan to me. He told me all about Jonboy building a new ramp for the front door which will let mom get her motorized chair in and out of the house, unaided. He mentioned that they'd enjoyed his company immensely. Then he said it:
"We've really been having some great gourmet cooking while he's been here. Even his presentation is spectacular! He puts just the right portion on the plate and arranges it artstically and it looks so good that even tasteless meals taste good! His cooking has been just wonderful! Last night he made some stuffed squash and sauteed some vegetables in olive oil... and..."
It was at that point that he realized that starting tomorrow he will be stuck with me for the next four days at least. It was a sobering thought. He started to back pedal.
"Ahem, well, you know, Jonboy's always had to follow his diabetic diet and he has learned how to cook healthy food as pleasingly as possible..." he said.
"uh-huh." I said.
"And, uh, well..." he floundered.
"yep," I said.
"I guess we could have turkey sandwiches and baked chips once you get here?"
I hate Jonboy.
But he's not the only one. When I got back to work this week, one of the first things my friends wanted to know was what my mom had been eating. They were concerned that I was responsible for arranging meals. They wanted to know if they needed to send casseroles. I told 'em their worries were entirely unfounded. In addition to multiple daily forays into the hospital cafeteria, I had done a spectacular bit of frozen pizza preparation followed by stellar exhibition of sandwich assembly.
HA! Be quashed, you doubters!
I think they're just jealous because none of them married a Jackson who cooks dinner for them every night. And if I learned to cook, then what would happen to that spasm of self-preservation that motivates Jackson to keep doing the food prep? Hmm?
Somethings just aren't worth learning.