SOB and I went over to Dad’s house to pick him up for lunch.  Our destination? The Coffee Shop of the Un-Dead.

SIDEBAR:  SOB and I, in or nearing our 50s, bring down the average age of the patrons by at least twenty years.

After the usual scavenger hunt for important papers that Dad has hidden among the solicitations for fraudulent charities, we worked up an appetite.  His home attendant, Heather (who is fabulous) joined us for lunch.  (Dad’s and her rapport is terrific.  We are soooo lucky.  And I hope she feels the same way.)

The snow made getting to the Coffee Shop of the Un-Dead a little treacherous.  SOB took Dad’s left arm, Heather took his right and I walked behind, with my arms out and my stomach tight, ready to catch him under his arms if he fell.  All was fine and Blogger Family Protocol, while ready, did not have to be engaged.

After lunch, when we cleared the treacherous parts, and having survived the meal without any of the Un-Dead patrons actually becoming Dead, we all got a little giddy.

SOB was walking behind, and I was holding Dad’s right arm.  When I came upon some snow that had settled on shrubbery, I whipped my hand around and —

SCORE!!

Direct hit on SOB.  Heather, holding Dad’s left arm, not to be outdone, slammed me with snow with an impressive hook shot behind Dad.  I made SOB substitute for me on Dad’s right, so I could take the offense and pummel Heather.  Then SOB and Heather ganged up on me.  All the while, two people are making sure Dad didn’t fall.

It was a winter ballet performed by people in their 50s with the precision and grace of children (ok, maybe not, but this is my blog).  Then, as we are about to walk into his lobby, we needed to pelt Dad a little and very gently, so he didn’t feel left out.  So add a 92 year-old to our folly and frolic.

When the doorman saw us all, he said to Dad, “Doc, looks like you won!!”

He did.  We did.  A snow ball fight (after a fashion) in New York City with my Dad and our new extended family that includes Heather.  In life, things never turn out the way you imagine.  But not everything has to be tossed out just because life has its own trajectory and its own timeline, separate from our hopes and expectations.  Nope, not everything we know needs to be tossed out, even in the despair of reality.  Except for snow balls.  They need to be tossed every time there is snow.