The winner

"Well, I'll hobble home now and try to get some dinner," he said.

I was in the kitchen, on the rolling office chair next to the fridge, holding the mustard I was going to put on the salmon. He was standing at the kitchen door, near the stove.

"Yes," I said, "Bursitis is painful. I had a fairly mild case of it in my hips last summer, but - it went away."

"It's not the pain so much," he said, still standing there. I wondered how I'd get to the stove to prepare my salmon. "It's the big lump of fluid rolling around in my knee, affecting the functioning of the joint. That's what bursitis is, you know - a swelling of the bursa around the joint, caused by an accumulation of fluid. It makes the joint harder to use." He demonstrated with some clumsy knee motions. "I guess it's not surprising, given what I've been going through all year."

"You mean, the flood, and all...? " He understood that I meant his project to look through every object that had been in the thrice-flooded basement, to decide what to salvage. It's been over a year since the last flood, and his possessions have stayed out in the yard, in the rain and snow. It's taking extra time to look through them because he no longer lives in our house; he left me and moved in with his girlfriend right after the last flood, right about the time I started having trouble standing and walking.

His mother was always vaguely sickly. His father always had to take care of her. Her wishes and limitations had to be taken into account before any plan could be solidified: Are we going to visit the grandkids? Yes, if she feels up to leaving the house. Are we going to church? Not this week; she isn't up to letting anyone look at her.

So the sickly one always won.

I contemplated transferring to the chair next to the stove. It's a stool, really, and it's tall enough to let me to work at the counter. So I'll be able to squeeze the mustard onto the salmon without standing - but I first I'd have to get to the stool. I can walk. I will walk. But then I'll sit.