Thursday, February 25, 2010


I don’t mind math. But I hate middle of the night math. The sort of math where you wake up with a start from a dream you can’t remember, but the feeling clings to you like a damp nightdress on a sticky summer night. But it is not summer. The feeling is somewhere between anxiety and dread and sadness. And your mind is not still. That’s when math can be at its worst: bills that need paying; things which need fixing or, heaven help us, replacing; interest rates; IRA and 401K balances.

But dark of night fiscal math is nothing compared to loss and actuarial math: my father died at 68; I was 29 when he died; he’s been gone 22 years today; I will soon be 52; Dad was only sixteen years older than that when he died; Chuck will soon turn 67; that’s just one year younger than my Dad was when he died...
The math beats on until sleep once again pulls me back and lets me rest both mind and body.

Dad was robbed. I was robbed. The whole family was robbed.
Even those of you who never knew him, you too, were robbed.


Roo said...

That's bad math!

That's the sort of math you wash out of your head with a nice herbal tea, or a good cup of English Breakfast tea and piece of home made cake (it may be the middle of the night, but it's Tea-Time somewhere in the world)

You are just pipping me on the age thing, and Chuck is just a tad older than my big brother, so you both have plenty of vim left, so eat cake, drink tea and count sheep (that's fluffy nice math) x

Anonymous said...

Don't forget to enjoy an Orange too!

dancingmorganmouse said...

I'm with Roo, only do the fluffy maths.

Pink Granite said...

Hi All -
Fluffy math it is!
I'm certain the next time I wake and the bad math creeps in I will manage to herd some nice, fluffy sheep into the mix and it will surely make me smile!
Thank you!
- Lee