April 5, 2014 

I am so tired today. Lots of wind exacerbating my allergies. Kids are tired too. Mom is still in the kitchen eating chips and horehound drops. I think I will make her a cup of tea. 

Frances, my dear friend from Ireland/England wrote. Sent me a lovely photo of her and her daughter Kerry and this photo of her primroses. The photo in back is that of her wonderful husband who died a few years back. John was special. Very kind, very talented. He proposed to Frances three times before she accepted. I am glad she did. I met the two of them when I took Laura to England before she died of Huntington’s disease. They shared their home with us, thanks to Father Willing, then vicar on the QEII for his 13th world tour, when John and Frances were also sailing. Frances took care of John for many years. She was an excellent caregiver, but even then needed and took respite time. I need to take a few pages from her experienced book. Oh how I wish I were back in Cornwall, having a bite of her roast lamb and a glass of wine, and sharing such sweet company with her and John. 

Am wearing my rubber gloves as I type. Mom is in the bathroom. Am taking my leave to give her privacy. 

Later—

Mom was hungry. She never says she’s hungry, but asks if you are hungry. Another lifelong habit. So I gave her a plate of organic broccoli with butter and lemon and some chicken Francese, which she likes. But she eats so little, I had to put some of the chicken back in the refrigerator. Mom will only eat a quarter piece of anything—bread, chicken, whatever. I should give her a large plate so that it will look empty. I often feel bad about giving her so little to eat. But small frequent meals a day should do the trick; however, the frequent part is tough. She eats so little. 

Mom is eating in the kitchen as I write. She complains that I should not leave the kitchen light on. Costs too much money. Her concern is sweet, but not well founded. 

Excuse me. A hungry poodle is staring at my plate. Time to feed the pups! We will all be eating to Mozart’s Divertimento, K563, in Eb Major. Rob and I agree that if we can only listen to one composer’s works for the rest of our lives, it would be Mozart, but we would miss Beethoven.