"I dreamed that England made me King William V."
These were Mr. Ginley's first words this morning.
"You mean, like King Ralph?" I inquired, referring to the 1991 movie starring John Goodman as the mensch who would be king.
"Ya, just like that," he said sleepily, still in the throes of slumber, apparently. "They found out I was the closest blood heir to the throne. But they didn't want you to be in the ceremony. I told them, 'If Barbie can't be there, I won't be there.'"
I was touched.
"Was there a King William IV in real life?" I wanted to know.
"Ya, he came before Victoria, he was her uncle. Wasn't king for very long, though." [Seven years, almost to the day. Thanks, Britannica.]
"The first thing I did was end the troubles in Ireland," he continued.
"I bet the food was good," I noted, knowing his priorities. And thus sent him back to dreamland, hopefully to enjoy all his favorite delicacies as regent of GB.
Back here in the land of reality, Mr. continues to take more steps as his left leg works valiantly at regaining its former functionality. His hand remains a stranger, but we have hope.
Thursday marks six months since the stroke struck. Also coming up this week is his next procedure, which will hopefully be the final kidney stone blast extravaganza. Once we've gotten through that, we'll continue to work on transferring, so he can get from his wheelchair to the car seat and be free to roam beyond the cabin.
The dream is to have him sailing through the MetroParks again, side by side with moi, taking in the wonders of nature and experiencing the great outdoors again.
Which, I believe, is a more realistic dream than becoming Bill V.
Fingers crossed.
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