Every few weeks, she'd call me, as I was shaking the cobwebs from my brain, over my first cup of coffee
. By the sound of her voice, she could be anywhere from 40 to 80 - it was a raspy, "lived-in" voice
, with a distinct Deep South
flavor. Always politely asking the same two questions
"Could you tell me what time it is?"
No problem; I would tell her. But second:
"Could you tell me what the date is?"
Alzheimer's? Or a world-class binge. I'll never know.