September 1, 2014

We are on our way to Cheryl’s house in Pottstown. Mom is in the living room, waiting to be walked to the car. She spent the morning asking for the usual things: tissue, juice, and for me to comb her hair. Yes, I washed her hair again this morning. She hates having her hair washed. But why not today? Valentino just got groomed. The whole family will be spic and span, with the exception of Lucia, who will be groomed on Wednesday.

And, yes, mom asked for her fuzzy jacket (a lightweight Polartec). It’s August and it’s 86 degrees in the shade, mind you. The humidity is horrible and the bugs are biting. And, yes, mom asked me if I had my coat, too. No, I am not carrying my coat. It’s hot out there. Shades of my youth. I had to carry a coat or a sweater for half my life (OK, for one-third of my life) nearly everywhere I went. I would rather freeze than carry another item. I don’t even carry a purse any more. I carried stuff, lots of stuff, while I was living at home. I’m an adult now, having lived on my own lo these many years. And I don’t want to carry anything! Got it!

Well, today is one of those days. The mold count is high. The mosquitoes have had their lunch break on me yet again. (I swear the government is out to see if they can cut down on the population by reintroducing yellow fever and malaria!) But I remember mosquitoes being far worse at the outdoor theater. Those days were wild. The pics didn’t work against the mosquitoes, and their offspring are still out to show that our meager attempts at keeping them at bay remain useless.