Showing posts with label forging forward. Show all posts
Showing posts with label forging forward. Show all posts

Sunday, December 31, 2017

Onward and Upward!


The Husband is down with a virus so it was not a good rest for us last night. Cough, cough. Toss, turn. You know the drill. He'll be fine, we think positively. Leftover garlicky ginger chicken soup was turned into a pot of garlicky ginger tomato soup this morning, which shall be good for a couple of days before he tires of that kind of soup. He's already on his way to losing weight for the 20-pound loss goal we each set on Christmas day (our present to ourselves) by the end of May.

So. Here we are, the end of the year.

An outrageous year for our nation, leaderless. Executive actions and congressional duplicity turning us down the path of darkness rather than so-called greatness. I want to think that we've reached the bottom and it's only up now. A lot of us have no problem standing up against harassment, intimidation, lies, misconceptions, ignorance, and down-right bullying.

The personal score: A hysterectomy took away the cancer no one was really sure was there. The knees are still without a substitute for a lack of cartilage, yet turn on the dance music, what pain?  A neighbor from my young days, a cousin's wife, a friend's sister, and the first and late Husband's son all are now soaring in peace and joy throughout the universe. A celebration of 21 years of marriage. Fun times with old and new friends. Molly the Cat purring every day. The Mama's house becoming more our home. Missing the Mama, ah, but the Mama stories we tell each other bring us smiles and, yes, laughter.

Onward and upward into the new year we go. May it be one of good health, love, joy, peace, and common sense for us all.


Today I'm linking up with All Seasons, a weekly meme hosted by Jesh at Artworks by Jesh StG. Thank you kindly, Jesh. :-)



Saturday, December 16, 2017

Villa Mia


I'm reading Under the Tuscan Sun right now. This is my third start (maybe fourth) in the last 10 years or so. I enjoyed the movie so I bought the book when I saw it on the "buy 3, get one free" table at a bookstore. 

I finally got to a point that I don't recall having read. This morning I learned that the fig flower resides inside the fruit and a certain kind of wasp burrows itself inside the fig to lay its eggs. If it doesn't succeed, that's okay, it has at least pollinated the flower. If larvae has been deposited, ooh-la-la! According to Wikipedia (yup, I had to learn more), a mature male mates with a female then proceeds to peck its way out of the fig so that all the females can escape. The male, now wingless and, no doubt, quite spent promptly dies. May he forever rest in joyful peace knowing that he did his job well.

Frances Mayes is the author of Under the Tuscan Sun. For those who never read the book or saw the movie, Mayes wrote about her experiences restoring a villa in Tuscany during her summer months off from teaching in San Francisco. So far, she has romanticized creating a vision from abandoned chaos; eating simple, but elegant, Italian fare outdoors; respecting old and abandoned trees still bearing delicious fruit; removing thick, gnarly tree roots from under stone walls; discovering old-time wells; and, yes, even hiding in bed as a thunderstorm lingers over her villa. I'm not even a third way through the book.

While I was reading about the figs and Mayes' discovery that some of the trees on her property produce the oh so expensive pine nuts, I glanced up now and then to the view of the backyard. Bright blue sky . . . new cedar (or is it redwood?) fence . . . the branches and leaves of the apple trees, lemon tree, avocado trees, and pink geraniums dancing with the light wind . . . the swaying of the chimes, Slinky, and other things hanging from the apple tree by the patio. . . . I'm living my own version of recreating a villa in Tuscany.  Magnifico!

P.S. That's not my view from this morning. It's what I would see if I looked sideways as I stood in the view that I saw through the sliding door window this morning.



Wednesday, December 13, 2017

Feeling Free at Sixty-Four!


Yesterday I celebrated my first day of being 64 years old.

How did that happen?

My body knows I'm old. Probably my brain does, too. I'm guessing all old people say that since I have no guidebook for getting older.

Spiritually, I'm that five-year-old wandering in the fields surrounded by tall grass, wildflowers, butterflies, and sun bubbles.

I'm also that young thing uncovering worlds and possibilities.

I feel, again, a freedom to dream, to discover, and to do!




Monday, November 20, 2017

Timidity, Be Gone


A party has been going on in my head, and it has been rather rowdy at times.

We all do need to be rowdy once in a while, but within reason.

Within reason.  Who coined that phrase? How long did it take for others to start saying it? Before it was explained in a dictionary? In a grammar book? Is this phrase an idiom? Are idioms even taught anymore?

Pshew! See what I mean? A party is going on in my head!

Some of you may have thought that my idea of rowdy is making loud and happy noises, and possibly doing a silly prank or two on the Husband. That, of course. Sure. Maybe. Not telling. Giggle. 

Rowdy to me is also playing with words and sentences, and thoughts and concepts.

Once upon a time 11 years ago I jumped out of a plane. That was not hard at all. If you freeze, like I think I did, your instructor (the professional skydiver to whom you're hooked), merely pushes you over as he falls forward. Me jumping out of the plane (from 18,000 feet up in the air, too, mind you) was quite easy compared to taking a deep breath and letting my storytelling voice cough, laugh, dance, cry, shriek, sing, do somersaults, grit teeth, zen out, play solitaire, roar, and s-o-a-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r. 

My ability to hold that rowdy door open longer is increasing bit by bit, day be day. Thank you very much for listening.


Friday, November 17, 2017

So I Am.


One thing about not being out there, being visible, being noticeable, being memorable. People forget that you're there. Until you're not there and someone asks, "Where the heck is the person who sweated this small stuff?"

SO UNFAILINGLY RELIABLE. I'd rather not have that on my tombstone. Shudder.

You might as well etch this beneath my name—DRUDGE.

Yes, yes, I know that the world can't run without us drudges. Did I say I abhor being a drudge? If I had, I would've done something about it long time ago. I would've taken the other path. Each and every time.

I cannot imagine myself as a high maintenance diva. Maybe in a parallel universe I am. Heaven help those people.


Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Trying Different Things


As I settled back to read a few more pages of a novel around 11 o'clock the other night, after spending an hour or so doodling and drawing sugar canes, peppermint canes, and walking canes, I realized that I was doing different things.  (Canes are not easy to draw, by the way.)

I am actually looking for things to do, different things to try because I am. . .giggle. . .retired.

There are some things I'm no longer interested in trying
. . . hang gliding
. . .roller skating
. . . hiking the Pacific Crest trail
. . .driving a big rig cross country, toot-toot
. . .going to Mars

Yup, no longer interested in making those dreams come true. 

One of the things I have been doing is painting. I did that watercolor in the photo up there. What do you think: Does it remind you of granite mountains? Maybe somewhere in the Sierra Nevada?



Tuesday, November 7, 2017

Looking for a Fight?


Warning: This is a grumpy story that happened this past summer in front of one of my happy places. The encounter did not sour me on continuing my visits, but for a moment after the event I felt like what's the use of living when people like that guy we met is alive.

I was parallel parking into a tight spot in front of the library where a whole lot of children and their parents were lined up in front of the bookmobile. The kids were signing up for a how-many-books-do-I-want-to-read-this-summer type of program. The car in front of me hung over its rear parking mark and the car behind me was nearly up to its front parking mark. As I turned off the engine, the Husband and I heard a very angry "HEY!"

We looked over to see a man standing against the building, his arms crossed, glaring at us. "Are you talking to us?" the Husband asked.

"You hit my car!" the middle-aged man shouted.

"We did not," said the Husband. "We would've heard it or felt it if we did."

"You hit my car!"

I peered around the Husband. "Excuse me. Are you saying I hit your car?"

"Yes! You hit my car!"

"I did not," I said. "I would've felt it or heard it."

"You hit my car!"

The Husband and I got out of the car. The Husband and the guy started arguing. "Calm down," I said to both of them. I looked at his front bumper. "I did not hit your car. Look, there's nothing there."

Still in angry mode, the guy said, "There doesn't have to be anything there just because you hit my car."

Huh?  I could have lightly touched it, but I didn't think so. I was within inches of his car and to his eyes I hit it.

"I'm sorry. But I did not hit your car." (Why do I always apologize for something I didn't do.) I noticed that our car hung over the parking mark, so I went back into the car to move it forward a bit. When I got out of the car again, the man was still angrily whining about his car being hit. The Husband continually repeated firmly, "We didn't hit your car."

"Yes you did!"

"What do you want?" asked the Husband and me in unison. I added, "Do you want my arm?"

The man rushed away into the crowd of children and parents who didn't seem to have paid attention to us, thank goodness.

The Husband and I walked into the library. When I said I wanted to look around, the Husband said he would wait for me outside. Later he told me it was to make sure that man didn't try anything stupid. I found the Husband standing with one of the library technicians, both watching the man go hurriedly back to his car and get in. Not wanting another confrontation, the Husband and I waited until he sped away, which was within seconds.

"He didn't look disabled to me," said the Husband. "I didn't see any placard on his dashboard."

"He had a disabled license plate," I said. "He could have a disability not visible, or maybe it's for someone else in his family."

The Husband thought the guy was gunning for a fight.

The guy didn't have a new car, although it was much newer than ours. It wasn't shiny and polished from hours of love and care, but it was less dusty and grimy than our old fart of a car. He was probably 15 to 20 years younger than us, which was to our advantage if he was one who simply has to strike out at people who he thinks offended him.

I have to wonder what was he going to do? Hit an old man and an old woman. If he didn't have an audience of children and parents, I wouldn't put it pass him. For that, I am grateful, considering what horror could have happened.



Friday, July 28, 2017

Voila! Nothing There.


Until yesterday, that is what the Husband, Molly the Cat, and I saw when we looked out the patio door. Sitting behind the shed was a small chicken coop. Molly loved to climb up the chicken coop, along a plank, and onto the shed's southern eaves to take her nap between breakfast and lunch.

For the past year,  the Husband and I have talked about taking down the structures because they were useless. No chickens for the coop (never were!) and if we did have chickens I would rather see them strutting freely (kind of) around the yard. As for the shed, only hobbits would be short enough to stand in it. If, even then.

So, why was it built?

I don't know, and I don't care to speculate about how it came to be built. When I heard a crow and saw a butterfly as we dismantled the structures, I knew that the Mama liked our decision.

It felt good swinging the hammer and being constructively destructive. Pound! Pound! Grunt! Pound! GRUNT! Pound! Pound! The most physical activity that the Husband and I have done in a very long time.

Before we began our Pound! Pound!, the world was silent. Well, except for the sawing and hammering by the neighbors on our northside, who are building a beautiful deck. Our pounding seemed to have brought out the neighbors from the two houses on our southside. They were probably curious to why the quiet fogeys were creating such a racket. It felt like a party with all the chattering on the other side of the fences, the construction noise next door, and, of course, our Pound! Pound! Pound! and yakkity-yakking.

The once upon a time shed and chicken shed came down in about two hours. And, that's only because we had the help of our awesome friend Mister D. The Husband and I are barely at 70 percent in shape, and I think I'm being generous. Mister D and the Husband have known each other since college. He has always been there for the Husband and, ever since I've known Mister D, for me.  Thank you, Mister D! Thank you very much!

Look! See the gift that Mister D gave us. The apple and avocado trees that were boxed in by the shed look happy with the nothingness, too.  I'm sure Molly the Cat will be glad as well, in time.


P.S. Mister D also helped the Husband fix the side gate for us, which got destroyed during the winter storms. When he and the Husband pulled the old post from its hole, they found that the gate post was held up by a just-the-right-size piece of branch wedged between the post and the concrete. Something, huh? 

Friday, June 16, 2017

Rustiness


Rusty nails.

Rusty rust.

Rusty stringing-words-into-sentences-into-paragraphs-into-stories.

I'll get there. Again. 



Sunday, April 9, 2017

Seeking Distraction


It's past noon and I haven't done what I said I would do today.

But, I did make apple scones for breakfast and went out to the front yard with Molly the Cat to deadhead daisies and pull some weeds. Now I'm writing about it all.

All distractions from filling out income tax forms.

Doing the taxes should take less than two hours. I already did a first pass last month to get an idea of the damage to our checkbook. So, no big deal, right?

I'm listening to the Full Sail album by Loggins & Messina in hopes that it will get me into the mood. Yes, right after I imagine myself snorkeling in Hawaii.  Ah, such pretty fishes. 



I'm linking up with All Seasons, a meme hosted by Jesh of Artworks from JeshStG. Click here to check out other participants.



Saturday, April 8, 2017

Not a Hysterical Report



If I had written this post several days ago, I may have been called it Hysterical Report. Actually, I thought about renaming this blog to The Hysterical Report. I'm glad I waited. I'd rather not be hysterical about anything.

I am on a new adventure. No. I take that back, it's not new. After 12 years, this adventure's path has come into the foreground. It's simply not a good idea to let the grass grow over this path anymore.

My in-my-face-but-not-hysterical-adventure is an upcoming hysterectomy. Da-dah!

Oh-oh, did I lose you? Come back when you can wrap your head around the concept of a hysterectomy. It took me awhile. I realize it helps for me to write about it.

Yesterday afternoon I got a chest x-ray, one of my three pre-op things to do. The other two are an EKG (next week) and several blood tests (a week before the operation). Did you happen to flash on the Operation board game, by the way?

Because I did the X-rays in town, I repeated myself a lot to the lab receptionist and the X-ray Lady about faxing the X-rays to the Gynecologist-Oncologist's office several cities away. Only after this conversation with the X-ray Lady did I confident that the results will be faxed.

"What kind of surgery are you doing?" asked the X-ray Lady.

"Hysterectomy," I answered. 

"We still have to do that?" she asked, which got me wondering if she was in menopausal mode.

"They found precancerous cells."

"Oh."

Yeah. We don't think of grey-haired postmenopausal women as needing hysterectomies. Certainly, not I. My Gyn-Doc wanted me to get a hysterectomy 12 years ago when the biopsy of a uterine polyp showed the cells to be in a state of complex hyperplasia with atypia. Untreated, there was a good risk of me getting cancer. Not having health insurance, I needed to find another route. So the Gyn-Doc put me on birth control pills for several months which chased that condition away and, until this year, the pathology results of subsequence polyps reported benign cells. Yaay!

I went 12 years before complex hyperplasia with atypia reared itself up again.  Only this time a pathologist said I had "precancerous cells" and that meant my Gyn-Doc put her foot down. The only treatment was a hysterectomy. 

Not totally convinced, I took the Gyn-Doc's referral and met with the Gyn-Oncologist Doc over a week ago. I thought he would take another sample to double check that I got the same result. Nope. The Gyn-Onc Doc said that during the hysterectomy he would take another biospy. The lab results I have were good to go by, he said. Oh.

Then he convinced me I wanted this hysterectomy. He drew two lines on a piece of paper. The left column was Good, the middle, Precancer, and the right, Cancer. In the middle column, he wrote I, II, and III. He circled III and said, "That is you."  He wrote 40-50%. "That is the risk of developing cancer," he said. He paused, then continued, "There is no hard line between precancerous and cancer."

In other words, I could develop cancer, I could not. I could already have cancerous cells growing. That latter thought sunk in quite quickly and deeply. Now having affordable health insurance (thank you, President Obama), I did not have a reasonable excuse to dilly dally about shall I take the risk, or shan't I.

I'm slated for a laparoscopic hysterectomy in 34 days. The Gyn-Onc Doc will use da Vinci robotic technology. That's cool, don't you think? I almost want to be awake to watch. Gyn-Onc Doc suggested I look it up on You Tube instead.

So there you go. Stay tuned to more of my trying-not-to-be-hysterical adventure.

Joyful joy, joy, and joy.

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

Just.


When I saw the episode of Grace and Frankie, an original Netflix series starring Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin, in which Frankie (Lily) mentions her diary and Grace (Jane) responds with "Your bullshit diary where you write in the air?", I thought that's how I've mostly been blogging the last 11 months. Unlike Frankie, I mentally write the words.

Have you seen Grace and Frankie by the way? In a nutshell it's about two vibrant women in their 70s who suddenly become roommates because their husbands announced they are gay, been having a secret relationship with each other for years, and want a divorce from Grace and Frankie because so that they can married. A mouthful, huh?

The series revolve around Grace and Frankie coming to terms with suddenly being on their own after 30-40 years of marriage. It's also about the women becoming each other's main support, although they don't think much of each other's life style. Grace is an uptight former CEO of her own company while Frankie is an old hippie artist. There are also secondary stories about Bob (Grace's husband played by Martin Sheen) and Saul (Frankie's ex played by Sam Waterston), as well as the adult children of Grace and Bob and Frankie and Saul.  Another mouthful!

I love this show. The storyline. The subject matter—after all, how many TV shows feature older people in a not-so-schmaltzy way. The cast, wowza! One of the creators of the show is Marta Kauffman who also co-created Friends. Quality! And, lots of strong writing, I must add.

Okay. Enough about this show before I distract myself from my original intention of today's blog. If you want to know more about the series, check out the Grace and Frankie website or the Wikipedia article about the series.

My original intention? I began this post on Sunday. Today is Wednesday.

My original intention?

Focus, focus, Susie, my darling dear.

My original intention?

Just—in all senses of just—to let me know that I need to express. . .to articulate. . .to humor. . .to feel out loud what's inside my soul.

Just often sad.

That shall pass.

And, while it is passing, I shall do my best to write my thoughts via the keyboard rather than in the air.


It's ABC Wednesday. This was my J post. Click here to please check out other participants. Thank you ABCW Team!

Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Exquisiteness.


With all the current churning of evilness in our country's leadership, we need to take time every day to look for the wonder, the beauty, the eloquence, and the love in our lives and our environment.

Call me simple, if you like. Doesn't matter. I have faith that we shall get positiveness, common sense, and humanity back in power again.

It's the letter E at ABC Wednesday. To check out ABCW posts from bloggers around the world, please click here. Thanks ABCW Team!


Sunday, January 1, 2017

Cheers to a New Calendar Year!


"What got into you?" asked the Husband, looking across the table as I cracked walnuts.

"The bananas got browner just like you said would happen," I answered. We bought the bunch of organic bananas yesterday afternoon. I only wanted three bananas, but when I saw that the bananas were a bunch for a dollar, I couldn't bring myself to buy three bananas when I could purchase eight for the same price. Would you?

I don't remember if I fully answered the Husband's question. I recall that he went back to checking out Facebook so I must've said that I want the walnuts for making banana bread. Now I think I'll bake scones. Easier. Then I'll freeze the rest of the bananas. I found out I don't even need to peel, slice, or stick them in freezer bags. And when I want to use one or two for baking or smoothies, I simply microwave the bananas for a minute or two. Voila!

It's been a good new year so far. I've been very productive, too. Along with cracked walnuts, I've made a pot of New Years' beans and rice, wrote a couple of short pieces (I'm including this post), brought some books downstairs,  and envisioned a bit more about how the living room shall look. The Husband and I went down to the storage lockers and brought back a few boxes and things and looked in the attic to see what the Mama hid there. 

I know. What's gotten into me? The possibilities of the new year I suppose. Let's see what happens tomorrow.

May you all have peace, joy, and wonder in 2017!


To start the new year, I'm linking up with All Seasons, a joyful meme hosted by Jesh. Click here to check out the meme. Maybe you'd like to join in as well.



Monday, December 12, 2016

A New Trip


So begins a new adventure around the sun for me.

Here I gooooooooooooooooooooooooo. . .




Wednesday, August 31, 2016

The "H" I Say


The other day I decided to keep a daily Have-Done list. For awhile, that is. Until I no longer need to let myself know that I have accomplished something each day.

Every day, I add things to my To-Do list. As you can see in the photo, the items don't always get done right away. Sometimes, not for weeks after I put them on the list.

The Have-Done things, so far, were not on my To-Do list. That's okay. They were usually stuff:

•  I would've distracted myself to do so I wouldn't do anything on the To-Do list. For instance, dig up a narrow piece of the front lawn to create a new home for a bunch of jade plants that no longer fit in their pots.

•  I would've discovered I needed to do before I could do a To-do item, such as clean the freezer in order to start it up again.

•  I needed to do that moment because they needed to get done then and there. We needed to pay that water bill, you know.

•  I would've eventually put on my To-do list. That would've probably been the applesauce I made this morning from the apples I picked off our tree last week.

There you go. That's how I am right now.  

H is the letter for this week's ABC Wednesday. (Thank you very much, ABCW team.) To read other H-inspired posts and/or to join in with your own, please click here.


Wednesday, June 22, 2016

X Marks the Spot


"The surgeon will make an incision in my chest."

"Do you think it will be an X?" I asked.

The Husband laughed. I think he laughed. I'll say he laughed. I want him to have laughed.

Tomorrow morning, a surgeon will make an incision in the Husband's chest and install a pacemaker.

Yup.

A pacemaker. 

The results of the remote heart-monitor the Husband wore for two weeks showed that every now and then his heart flat-lines for several seconds. Not good at all.

Thank goodness this problem was caught now rather than much later and that there is a ready solution. And, thank goodness we have a proactive doctor who cares for his patients and is willing to make insurance companies authorize things immediately.

The Husband is ready as ready can be for this procedure. I cut his hair and trimmed his beard so the surgeon and his team wouldn't get annoyed at all that hair, especially his beard. How much hair? It filled the vacuum cleaner's canister twice!

The Husband is already considering names for his new friend-to-be. "What do you think of Gerry?" he asked. He hummed Ferry Cross the Mersey.

I love the Husband.


June 23, 2016 Update
The Husband is home with his new electronic friend. Whooo-hoooo!

Medical technology is amazing. He went in at 10:00 a.m. and by 2:00 p.m. a nurse was wheeling him to our car. The Husband looks great. He already requested and ate ice cream. Now he's laying on the couch, catching up with Facebook on the iPad. Ha!  

Thank you, one and all, for your prayers, positive thoughts, and good vibrations. You all helped make this adventure bearable. I love you all. 

It's the letter X at ABC Wednesday, the weekly meme started by Mrs. Denise Nesbitt and continued today under the ABCW team led by Roger Green.  Click here to check out other X-posts and/or to join in.



Monday, March 28, 2016

A Big Old Cheer!


Dear Friends,

The Mama, the Husband, Molly the cat, and I have rounded the last bend of the Mama's life journey. As we glide through this last leg, please give out a big cheer, throw a kiss, stomp your feet joyously, clap your hands heartily, or do another whooo-hooo of choice.  The Mama sends you big hugs, kisses, smiles, laughs, and much love. She thanks you very much for being part of her life, whether it be directly or indirectly through the Husband, Molly the Cat, or me.

Love,
Su-sieee! Mac


Thursday, March 24, 2016

Killer Wheels


Molly the Cat and the Mama got a set of killer wheels the other day.

Neither responded well to their portable travel wheelchair. Of course, who really wants to use such a chair much else actually own it.

"You think the cat will like that?" asked the Mama when she saw what new tool we brought into the house to help her get around safely. The day before it was a bedside commode, and the day before that a walker. Each purchased just in time for its suddenly urgent need.

When the Mama was too tired to inch her way forward any further, she sighed and allowed herself to sit in the chair and be glided to the other room. Settling on her couch, she said, "Give the cat a turn." I think Molly the Cat sighed too when she sat on the seat. She allowed herself to ride for a few feet.

The killer wheels came into the house only two days ago, but it seems more like weeks. Sigh.

In my imagination, I see the Mama, the Husband, and I charging out of the house and down the sidewalks in joyful glee. Molly the Cat, of course, sits at the window swishing her tail in Have a grand time! See you when you get back. 

I can hope.

It's the letter K at ABC Wednesday, a fun weekly meme headed by the friendly ABCW team headed by Roger Green. Click here to join in or to read the K's of other participants.

Sunday, March 20, 2016

An Adventure, Nevertheless


We are on a new adventure—the Mama, Molly the Cat, the Husband, and I.

The Mama's body is failing. Thank goodness, her spirit is not.

She's stubborn. That's a positive.

Yesterday afternoon, she faced reality. She fell! "You need to use the walker," I exclaimed.

"No! The dead people used it," she said, referring to the walker gathering dust in the garage. She used it once upon a time when she was healing from a broken hip. Somewhere along the line she let a friend borrowed it, which his wife returned after he died.

"We will get you another one," I said. It was 5 o'clock in the afternoon. Fortunately, for us, we found a bare-basic walker, without the sparkles and whistles, at the pharmacy.

Thankfully for us,  the Mama allowed herself to use the walker. I loved that at one point, as she slowly made her way down the hallway, she stamped her feet and scolded her legs for not working with her.

Last night, Molly the Cat gave the Mama an extra dosage of purrrrrrrrr while she laid on the couch in the living room. Molly first kneaded the Mama's blanket, then snuggled beside the Mama's legs. Sweet, Molly the Cat.

It seems that Molly's and the Mama's appetite are in sync. Mama eats a little bit, Molly eats a little bit. The Mama eats a good bit of her food, Molly eats her food. When Molly doesn't eat her meal, the Mama urges her to "Eat, eat, eat." I would love it if Molly could say, "You first, Madame."

As I'm writing, I can hear the Mama washing her breakfast dishes. (It was a good day for breakfast for the Mama and Molly.) My first thought when I heard the clang of dishes was to stop her and wash them for her. No. It's routine. It's normalcy. It's independence. For her. And for us.

Today, when the Mama is watching her game shows, the Husband and I will rearrange the furniture in her room so that she can move about fairly easy with her walker. She'll strike back at that change of reality. That's good.

I have begun to cry. I do my best not to do it in front of her. So far, so good.