We were blessed with the company of our three and a half year old grandson for the majority of yesterday. I decided this was a great opportunity to visit mom.
We found mom in her apartment. Tristan, while somewhat shy at first, was very interested in his great grandmother. Mom was delighted. Tristan, sure of the games he wanted us to play, had me running all around the apartment, hiding. As Tristan asked, “Where’d she go?” Mom would say, “You have to look for her.” Tristan would giggle and run to my hiding spot.
We went down to lunch, and mom introduced us to her friends. She was so pleased to share that Tristan was her great-grandson. Tristan was the delight of the dining room. He was quiet while fingerprinting the window overlooking the terrace and playing field adjacent to the community. He waved ‘hellos’ to other diners, whose hearts melted. He ate well, charmed the wait staff, all while casting a glow over his great grandma.
My visit with mom was pretty good. As it started raining in earnest, for the first time in over 60 days, I quipped we wouldn’t have to sacrifice any meteorologists. Mom laughed uproariously. We then plotted that the sacrifice would have meant a purgatory of contradictory weather models, and steady conditions, which, of course would drive a weather person batty. Mom was seriously pleased with this notion.
Mom got a good laugh from the explanation for my sore neck… I told her I’d slept like a cat
Mom did her usual food complaining. The soup was “so salty that she couldn’t eat it.” In a population of folks where high blood pressure is common, I doubt the soup was actually over salted. The baby green lettuces in her salad were ‘60% spoiled’… I listened to her explanation, while looking at her plate, and saw one piece of lettuce that I would have omitted from her plate. She asked for salmon on her salad, and was surprised to find a fillet rather than a scattering of salmon pieces over the salad. I kept gushing how lovely her meal looked.
When we were visiting in her apartment, mom asked about Tristan’s likes and dislikes. In telling mom how much he loved his bath, I spelled out the word (b-a-t-h), less he get excited, and then disappointed that a bath wasn’t in the immediate offing. Mom couldn’t parse the spelling of ‘bath.’ I worked it 3 different ways, gently, and she said, “I’m sorry, I just can’t get it.” She knew why I was spelling, just not what I was spelling.
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