Catrina called last night around 11:00 pm to say Margaret had had some kind of incident and was in the emergency room at St. Joseph's Hospital in St. Charles. Sue was already in bed so I decided not to awaken her. Before I arrived at the hospital, Sabrina let me know Margaret was back to herself. Early indications are that she had some kind of mini-stroke--short with no lasting effects.

Of course, the Abbott clan was gathered at the ER, Norman, Catrina, Stephanie, Sabrina and her son Brett. We were all allowed to visit with Margaret in between her various tests and paperwork. A period of high anxiety was short lived, and a good visit was had by all, with the exception of Margaret.

As I drove away from the hospital, I marveled at how much of our lives has revolved around these few blocks of St. Charles. There were the places we lived as children and some of us as adults, the locations of several of our marriage ceremonies, various and sundry trips to that same ER, many stays in that particular hospital, and literally thousands of meals in Pio's, the excellent northern Italian restaurant nearby.

All this reminds me of an incidence from around 1956: When we were moving to St. Charles from Marshfield, Joe, Donald, Sue, and I arrived with a U-Haul filled with a load of our stuff. Somehow we got everything up the flight of stairs and into the apartment we were moving into at 501 Clay Street. Joe with Sue, who was around 13 years old, went back to Marshfield the same day. Donald (age 11) and I (age 14) stayed. Earlier during the trip to St. Charles, Joe (who had been in the army and was very worldly and wise) told us about pizza pie, a delicacy we had never heard of. That first evening, Donald and I went to Pio's. We had, of course, hamburgers and fries. Aftwerwards, we asked the waitress for "pizza pie." She asked, "What kind?" We looked at each other, then at her, and said, "Cherry." Our pie was, predictably, delicious.

When we next saw Joe, we immediately told him we had tried the delicacy he had told us about. He asked, "What kind did you have." We said, "Cherry." Well, Dear Readers, that happened over 50 years ago, and Brother Joe is still laughing about it. Donald and I learned to laugh about it about 40 years ago.