December, 2007
I'm sitting around the kitchen table at a home for the elderly having tea with my father's siblings, my Uncle Tom and my salty old Aunt Marie. Poor Kaye Ballard, also a resident of the home, has confided in me that she has not been able to make a bowel movement in several days. Even now, while the rest of us enjoy tea, she is upstairs suffering alone in her bedroom.
I mention Kaye's condition to the others at the table. Uncle Tom sees this as a great opportunity to make fun of Kaye, and he happily jumps out of his seat and rushes upstairs to do just that.
"But now Kaye will know I broke her confidence, " I protest.
"Oh please," Aunt Marie admonishes. "In this house everyone knows everyone else's business."
Anne Bancroft, who has joined us at the table wearing a faded housecoat, smiles and nods in agreement as she sips her tea.
