Thursday was no better than Wednesday – in fact my temperature had gotten worse. I attempted to sleep off the fever and aches and pains. I was aided by delicious soup that Beverly had come over and made for me the day before. However, even that couldn’t stave off whatever was working so hard to make me feel awful. Around 2pm I pulled myself together and somehow (I believe some painkillers were involved) managed to make it to LAX to pick up my parents.
Afterwards we drove up to Beverly’s place (which only took 90 minutes to go a few miles) and went to Pho 99 for dinner. After dinner we went to 3rd street for some Gellato. It was then that Beverly and my dad decided to debate the merits of carbon trading. It went about as smooth as asking Charlton Heston for gun control. They both had rum raisin though, so it must have been the alcohol that got them going.
We headed back to Beverly’s place where she loaned me her air bed for the weekend.
Just so ya know—-the man who made the gun in C. H.’s (now cold, dead) hand was in your mother’s hands when he was in the hospital. He was a neighbor of our friends John and Shirly when they lived in the town of Lowell. He (Cecil Brooks)married a woman that I worked with at Dravo. He mounted a scope on a rifle that I have and although he “never worked on modern guns” he found the project that I wanted to be interesting enough so that he took time out of making guns for kings and potentaes to do it for me. Round and round we go.
wow – there’s your six degrees right there.