All this lovely weather scares me...
Hmm, the most gorgeous day so far and I have no idea where it went. A couple of walks with my mom, a run in the hills and weight workout for me, household chores, errands run, several trips outside to admire the new retaining wall - and it was gone.
Mother and I had a home visit session this afternoon with a woman who runs an in home healthcare service. They got along well; the woman was very personable, and one of the tidbits she told us was that their oldest client is 103, living at home and having caretakers visit three times a day to help her with meals and chores. Her mother lived to 112. Her son is 85, lives in California, and drives up to see her by himself. (THAT I find scary!) I'm hopeful this service will give us some respite, a bit of back up when no one else is available to keep Mother company and get her meals, as well as keeping an eye on her health.
Am following Senor Saramago on his winding travels through the top of Portugal. One thing I find disturbing about reading accounts of past travels is realizing how much the appealing areas described have changed, or been completely destroyed. Saramago gives a caveat regarding just that issue in his introduction. It's very strange, but with almost every work I've read in this vein, even if I've never been to the places the writers are describing, I have felt an intense sadness or nostalgia at the loss of an environment, atmosphere or just a mood; maybe a feeling of regret at having never been there and experiencing what the did, mixed with the varying degrees of success the authors have had in conveying the sense of place.
Mother and I had a home visit session this afternoon with a woman who runs an in home healthcare service. They got along well; the woman was very personable, and one of the tidbits she told us was that their oldest client is 103, living at home and having caretakers visit three times a day to help her with meals and chores. Her mother lived to 112. Her son is 85, lives in California, and drives up to see her by himself. (THAT I find scary!) I'm hopeful this service will give us some respite, a bit of back up when no one else is available to keep Mother company and get her meals, as well as keeping an eye on her health.
Am following Senor Saramago on his winding travels through the top of Portugal. One thing I find disturbing about reading accounts of past travels is realizing how much the appealing areas described have changed, or been completely destroyed. Saramago gives a caveat regarding just that issue in his introduction. It's very strange, but with almost every work I've read in this vein, even if I've never been to the places the writers are describing, I have felt an intense sadness or nostalgia at the loss of an environment, atmosphere or just a mood; maybe a feeling of regret at having never been there and experiencing what the did, mixed with the varying degrees of success the authors have had in conveying the sense of place.
posted by isabelita at 4:21 PM
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