I’ve been gone.
But I just now stopped by the ATH Club. The parking lot had some weeds growing out of the cracks in the asphalt and there was a lot of paper and plastic blown up against building on the lee side. Out back, the dumpster was cordoned off with crime scene tape. It seems an ex-investor derelict had heard something like a baby crying in the dumpster but it was just the dying remains of someone’s portfolio. Scattered about were a few shares of Fastly, and a couple of PVTL, and an autographed photo of Beth Kindig. No audience to be found there, so I came to this board.
I hit an All Time High on August 13 at about 6 a.m. Wall Street time. But KC, that’s a Saturday and the market was closed. True, but there are varieties of ATH’s. Some like a song played in a different key. Others of a different genre.
Mine was not on Wall Street, but in a city called Iloilo.
Out of the door of a temporary operating room of a third-rate hospital strode a first class neurosurgeon wearing a wide smile, carrying a glass of red liquid and giving me a thumbs up. “Your wife is asking for you”, he said. Three hours earlier, DW had been a diaper-wearing near-vegetable. Now she was asking for me.
ALL TIME HIGH, indeed.
Back through the door, with a pause to take off my shoes and exchange for a pair of flip flops from a pile on the floor and donning a green smock, I entered the recovery room and saw a responsive—if somewhat still anesthesia groggy–woman with a WTF-where-am-I-and-who-are-all-these-people look on her face.
Four days later we were back home from a 10-day, 9-night tour featuring 3 hospitals, meals and transfers included. I arrived with a new skill of changing the dressing and a new knowledge of the three membranes between the skull and the brain. And, of course, with DW.
Did ya’ miss me?