After five days and nights of 24-hour observation at the new wing and emergency ward at Highline Hospital, Elsbeth came home on Saturday and the girls of the family decided that the sons of the family should pitch in doing duty, taking turns staying at our house over night.

That required planning that included some cooking and serving both Elsbeth and me.

My legs are not very serviceable since the left hip bone was fractured last July and left me with balance problems that require a cane.
The family boys fancy themselves as gourmet chefs so that suited me fine.

I can make the coffee in the morning and pour bran flakes into a bowl but then I am maxed out.

I know where Elsbeth keeps the peanut butter, the orange juice and the bananas. But I have never learned how to handle the microwave oven or where she keeps the Sweet and Low.

I know how to burn toast and open a can of corned beef hash but I was startled when number four son Patrick sleepily appeared in his jockey shorts and handed me a bowl of Cheerios, a banana and a paring knife.

Elsbeth has never made my breakfast dressed like that. And she always cuts up some strawberries. Plus that she has never put a sliced tomato on my cereal and she always wears clothes in the kitchen.

Number two son Ken stayed all night and I saw him wash his hands.

But he could not find the eggs and decided to make what Elsbeth calls oakmeal. It tasted like Maypo and he tested its consistency by stirring it with his finger. That is why he washed first.

Number five son is named Scott Anthony and came over at dawn and was wearing his logger boots because he is a finished carpenter when he can find work. He is also a troubadour and sings a lot while working.

So he went to work with a hammer and cracked some eggs and stirred my coffee with a screwdriver, all the while singing an original song called "New Depression Blues."

Number three son Tim stayed all night and slept on the davenport in his skivvies and when I came downstairs I thought one of those grey whales had sought refuge in our rec. room.

He wanted to cook a pizza.

I despaired, but neighbor Gretchen DeMullion, came over next day to clean up the kitchen and brought a batch of her famous sticky buns and saved my life.