Across The Road From Hope

How quickly things change.

Abbi called me Friday night to tell me her flight from Monteray, Mexico, had landed just as my train to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, pulled out of Penn Station.

As I was queueing for a cab at 30th Street Station, she called to informed me that her granmother was in the hospital.

Moments after Jason, Mike and I finished dinner, she called to tell me her grandmother had passed away. Mary Burton Dick was ninetyone-years-old.

I caught an eleven o’clock train back to New York.

I met Mom Mom last spring at Delaware Raceway where she was holding court with a fistful of wager tickets high above the bleachers. Her smile was wide and constant. Her eyes sparkled. We got along immediately. I dare say she was flirting with me, and I’m pretty sure Abbi would agree.

I won’t try to begin to characterize Mrs. Dick, or her life. I only know how much she means to my wife, and her family, and how warm and wonderful, warm, and present she was to Abbi and me through our engagement.

Tomorrow night, Chris, Tony, Ran and I are performing at Rockwood Music Hall.

Thursday morning, Abbi and I are driving to Wilmington.

Friday morning, I take the train back to New York.

Saturday morning, Christofer and I are driving to Pittsburgh to work on “Mister Rogers & Me.”