So that’s what’s sad about not eating. The loss of dining, not the loss of food. It may be personal, but for, unless I’m alone, it doesn’t involve dinner if it doesn’t involve talking. The food and drink I can do without easily. The jokes, gossip, laughs, arguments and shared memories I miss. Sentences beginning with the words, “Remember that time?” I ran in crowds where anyone was likely to break out in a poetry recitation at any time. Me too. But not me anymore. So yes, it’s sad. Maybe that’s why I enjoy this blog. You don’t realize it, but we’re at dinner right now.
It’s enough to make you appreciate dinner — all those meals spent grubbing with friends and family, strangers and new acquaintances; the food secondary to the laughs and smiles, knowing glances, angry banter. That kinetic conversation after two glasses of wine.
Anyways, the backstory, is that Roger Ebert no longer can eat or speak because of three failed surgeries.