Arthur Sterling Covert
9900 Spain NE
Albuquerque, New Mexico 87111
April 9, 1992
The above is my new address and not the interesting variation on is that you used on a communication to me containing clippings on WordPerfect. I hope you have not used it again. The Post Office delivered it after executing a miracle of cryptanalysis and logic for which I stand in admiration and will always be grateful. It is possible that the delivery of that letter is the only thing that has gone aright in recent days.
I stopped for nights on the way out and discovered on two occasions I was in a dry county. The country has been doing to hell while we looked the other way. Now happily I had my little flask of brandy and was able to defy the bastards, but what I had overlooked forward to in the last hundred miles of dehydrating days was a couple of bottles of cold beer. In the future I will bring beer as well as brandy.
April 13, 1992
If I had written this yesterday I would have suggested that you watch for my immanent return. Since then we have come to a short of understanding. In some ways life has been exciting and in others dull. About ten days back I rode my bicycle to a local shopping mall and was looking at its facade for a barber shop. Riding very slowly I felt something which turned out to be an unpainted speed bump. I saw myself starting to fall and woke up as they loaded me into an ambulance. Next stop the emergency ward, where I was busy trying to figure out what had happened because so much ached but not my head. Well suddenly Wendy appeared, they had found her address in my wallet, she went and looked at my helmet which had been brought with me and it was cracked on the side. By this time I was so rational and moving so well that they discharged me with instructions to Wendy to spend the night with me. The next day from curiosity I returned to the spot of the gall. I entered a store and was greeted with a smile by a white haired lady who had seen my fall, had called the ambulance and stayed with me the half hour or so until it arrived. It was only as I left her with thanks that I learned I had been conscious all the time, lucid she said, although I could remember nothing.
Wendy, as directed spent the night with me, the first in some five days and the last for about a week. I had in the course of an evening asked her if she had been given an audiometer text, and finally shouted, “turn down the volume of that god damned TV program.” Her response was to offer her ear plugs and turn it down one step. I did not know it but she was sitting there transformed by fear and loathing. This fear and loathing persisted until last night when it was overcome. We are embarking on a softer kinder bit, we shall see how it goes.
I have joined a local BBS, my impression is that the local boards are two orders of magnitude better than those around Albany. Based on a sample of three. From one of these I have downloaded something we both want, the latest version of PAINT SHOP called PAINT SHOP PRO. I have tried it on my machine and generally get a message asking for more memory. Maybe you can do better. There are some suggestions about how to increase available memory, which I would follow very cautiously after a complete backup. NOTE; THE METHOD OF OBTAINING THIS PROGRAM IS DIFFERENT. FIRST UNZIP. THEN RUN THE SETUP PROGRAM. As an alternative read the README stuff.
I called Lenny about a week back. He sounded normal on the phone and we had a long talk. The medication including the prednisone [sp] that they are giving Joe leaves him weak in the legs. We talked about a visit or more calls, not specifically as he was starting something new in the way of a treatment. He thinks Joe is a nice guy but that he is eating and drinking himself into an early grave.
Last night we had a thunder storm after about ten days of sunshine and eighty degree afternoons. One can find this weather a bit boring. We used to miss it to a degree in Los Alamos because of air conditioning. But it takes a bid of madness to go out in the midday sun, particularly to work. I talked to the Merrill Lynch lady yesterday, who said there was a day last week when it got up to seventy five, I felt and honest nostalgia for Schenectady weather.
I don’t know how your trip to Russia is going, you may be there, on the way, returned or you may have abandoned the whole thing. I will finish and mail this letter. I am told by everyone including Wendy that there is a marvelous Senior Citizens Club around the corner. I may look it up this morning as a black gesture.