Trip to Canada

“I’m so very glad to be home,” Bea announces this morning.

I assume she has finally accepted having a hospital bed in her room and now recognizes the familiar surroundings.

“Where were you?” I ask just in case.

“I’m cold and wet, so hurry up with some clean clothes.”

“Did you go to the North Pole?”

“Nope. Canada.”

Involuntarily, I raise my eyebrows.

“Don’t you want to know what I was doing in Canada?” she asks.

“Okay."

“Looking for a good-looking man. I found two. One for you, and one for me.”

The dream has made Bea ravenously hungry. All there was to eat in the far north, after all, was fish, she explains.

Bea consumes a full bowl of cereal and a banana, then declares in that haughty voice she gets sometimes since she has been bed-ridden, “Now leave me alone.”

“You going back to Canada?” I ask.

“Hell, no!” she responds. “Canada’s too cold. Everybody is all bundled up in fur. I’m going to Florida.”