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     It's getting dark here in New Jersey and Hurricane Irene is about to make her grand entrance into my backyard. Electric is still on and I'm listening to dire warnings emanating from the television set. My son Bruce and his family, who live close by, had to evacuate their summer home at the Jersey shore. My son Ronnie and his family, who also live close by, are having problems with water pouring into their bedroom.

     My son Alan (my baby, who lives in Malibu, California) just telephoned from Hawaii, where he's vacationing with his wife Marie and children Jake and Margot.

     "How's the weather?" I asked.
     "Beautiful," he replied.
     "Are you having a good time?" I asked.
     "Yes," he replied.
     "When are you going home?" I asked.
     "Tomorrow," he replied.
     "How's the weather in Malibu?" I asked.
     "Just beautiful," he replied.

     "How are you Mommy?" he asked. (Forty-seven years old and he still calls me "Mommy").
     "I'm fine," I replied, gritting my teeth. "But I never thought I would hate my own child."

     "I love you Mommy."
     "I love you too."

                                August 27, 2011

Alan and 16-year-old Jake posing right after sky diving in Hawaii two days ago.

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