Saturday night The Bunny, The Chicken and I had dinner out with one of our mutual friends. High rollers that we are, "dinner out" meant "going to Pizza Hut." Our pal, Rina, was all charged up to try their new Sicilian lasagna pizza.

So we went. We ate. It was pretty damn good, so we also lip-smacked when we were finished. It's good pizza, but I'm wondering how adding some ricotta makes it "lasagna pizza."

Because we're party animals as well as high rollers, after dinner we all went back to La Casa del Pescado y Conejita (it sounds so exciting in another language doesn't it?) for dessert and a movie. After the raspberry pretzel yummy thing and about twenty minutes into Click, I received a very unexpected phone call.

It was my father. He and I have been mostly estranged for around twenty years. Although we're on civil, even friendly and conciliatory, terms we still don't talk much. In the five or so years we've been back in contact we've only spoken maybe a half dozen times. We've exchanged two or three e-mails. Once I sent him a Father's Day card with a picture of his grandson.

W. calling to ask me to serve as Secretary of Zombie Movies and Michael Douglas Bashing would have been only slightly more surprising than a call from my dad. Unexpected or not, it was a good conversation. We talked about politics and our local economies and Starbucks. We had a couple of good laughs and we "bonded" a little.

The real reason for his call was a bit of bad news. My grandmother, his mother, is dying. He wanted to make sure I had one last chance to see her. Without hesitation, I told him a trip would be difficult. I told him it was doubtful we could afford the trip or the time away from work.

I told him about refinancing and closing costs and new tires and blah, blah, blah. All of which is true. We really don't have enough money to justify a few days off work and an out-of-state trip. But it was still an excuse. If it was important to me, I could find a way. But that's just it; it's not important to me.

I've been estranged from her almost as long as my father. It's been at least fifteen years since I talked to my grandmother, my last surviving grandparent. The last few times we talked, we couldn't really connect on anything. She was a stranger, just a voice on the phone. I know it disappointed my dad that I wasn't more receptive to his suggestion.

I don't feel bad about my father's disappointment. I don't feel bad about not wanting to see my grandmother one more time. I don't feel bad about not being more involved, more interested in his family. I feel like I should care, but I don't. And that makes me feel a little guilty.