by Jim Oddie At a picnic table in a park-like campground near the small desert town of Anza, California, I sat composing on my laptop. A warm sun shone from the blue cloudless sky about, so I welcomed the cool breeze under the shade of a tree.
Deep in thought, I heard a female voice say, “Here, Dogie.” by George Wiley This story is dedicated to our former executive director, Dave Tosch.
Old Joe Hankins angrily stomped out of the ophthalmologist’s examining room, through the office, and tried to walk through a closed door. He stepped back, fumbling for the doorknob and loudly declared, "Nobody is going to cram me in a blankety blank hospital bed for a month!" Wes and Claire Johnson followed Joe out to the sidewalk urging him to reconsider, but he would not. The young eye doctor had explained to Joe that in this year of 1960, a person losing their sight to cataracts could have them removed. Unfortunately, it then entailed a month in the hospital. Joe refused even to think about it. |
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