Tuesday, January 5, 2010


My brother and sister-in-law are putting in a washer-dryer upstairs for my parents so Mom doesn't have to go downstairs, risk breaking her neck. Dad won't ever be going there again. That has to feel weird.

And a freezer in the kitchen.

My mother doesn't want this. She complains to me. "You children can't control my life; it feels bad to me."

I say, "You just don't like being on the receiving end. You've been a giver all your life. Okay for you to give, but when we do, uh uh."

She thinks about this. Has never thought about it like this before. Progress.

Flying Happy

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Cry, it's okay, bubbala. Tell me everything.