Izzy gives, all the time, above in the Alzheimer’s unit of a Washington County nursing home. Sometimes I wonder that there’s anything left.

   August 15, 2008 – Izzy and I have a bunch of girlfriends in the Alzheimer’s unit we visit for hospice. I can’t even list all of his women, and it’s unusual for me to get more attention than he does, but I have a new squeeze, Josie, who danced with me a couple of weeks ago. Today, when Izzy and I came into the common room after trying to visit Marion – she was asleep, and I didn’t want to wake her – Josie was sitting in her chair, all dolled up in pearls and a fancy shirt.
 Hey, I said, you look swell. Wow, she said, so do you.  Will you be my boyfriend? Will you take me out on a date?
  I might, I said. Can we go in a limousine?
  Sure, she said. You pay.
  Then what?
  Let’s go dancing. Let’s get good and drunk. Whaddya say?
  How drunk?
  Ten highballs. I’ll drink ten highballs and then we’ll dance.
   I’m not sure I can handle you. Maybe we better dance first, and then drink all the highballs. Then we can go out on to a fancy restaurant in the limousine, and then go home. How does that sound?
  That sounds pretty swell, mister. But I don’t know your name.
  It’ s Jon.
  Jon.
  Can we go on a date? Can we go out?
  Sure, we can. Sure we can.
  Hey. Will you be my boyfriend?