Dad, my aunt and I go off to do our duty. We visit their brother, my 89-year-old uncle James, in a nursing home. Such places are depressing to me. He's in a better mood to talk than usual, expanding from his usual response of "I don't know." We asked him about his granddaughter's upcoming wedding and he denies knowledge until we show him the invitation sitting on his bureau. He has some decades old magazines and some books to read. He says he quit chewing tobacco because he doesn't have any money.

I am glad when we leave but my uncle is sorry. He walks out with us using his rolling walker. It's a nice day and he waves goodbye to us, looking lonely.

We stop and visit my mother's grave. We don't stay long. It's quiet there in the corner of the vast cemetery. It's not boring, though. My mother never was boring. The grass is starting to grow around the marker.

When we arrive at my cousin's house, we find his wife, his son, my dad's other two sisters (arrived from W. Texas), my uncle we left earlier to his own devices and my other uncle (married to one of the W. Texas sisters). My cousin, his college-age daughters, my cousins from Houston (and one's wife and son) will all filter in over the next few hours.

It seems like time for some exercise.

I walk down Hillcrest by SMU for a while and then double back and go through a shopping area called Synder Plaza. This was my stomping ground thirty years ago when I lived only a few miles away. I wander through an antique store. Not a long walk, maybe a mile and a half, two miles. But it relieves my boredom a little.

I sit around feeling a little hungry. Even after the big IHOP glob, hunger eventually comes. One of my cousin's daughters has shown up and a proposal for hamburgers is on to the go. Cheeseburger and fries with everything, I say. Piteous diet.

The burgers, when finally acquired and picked up from the place across the street are good, as are the fries. I drink water.

I try to read (Vladmir Nabokov's Pnin) and make conversation. But I'm a little bored. Spinners is played again. My cousins call. One while driving from Houston, one trapped in an Arizona airport, missing a stand-by chance on an earlier flight. Finally, the Houston contigent arrives. Dad and I play some more games and then go back across town to our cheap abode. My cousin who still won't arrive until after midnight has proposed on the phone that we should meet at a plae called Café Brasil for breakfast.

There are the sounds of traffic on the nearby freeways, sirens and such. But I fall asleep.

It's easy to fall into a habit of being surrounded with entertainment. Oh, sure, a book is plenty for me if I'm allowed to concentrate. Interrupted on reading, though, and boredom seeps past the barrier.