begging your pardon but I must vent. Beth, one of my brothers and I took my father to a neurologist. just to get an official word on what we knew. a bit harrowing. not alzheimers, but dementia deriving from some mini strokes my father suffered some years ago. the doctor asked if dad had any children and he said no. for grandchildren, he named the three of us. dr gave my father a couple of 2-digit numbers to multiply. my father, who was an electrical engineer, worked at the problem earnestly. didn't get the answer right but had the process. watching him struggle was like seeing a dam say yes to more rain. he's going away, words are tricky, it's almost funny, how imprecise our living is, let alone our language. he's still here, I love him because I can't stop love, nights are long. do you ever wonder where your words go? you should start. my father was seven the last time the Red Sox won a World Series.