T-minus T-Day and counting

Yesterday I was considering the relatively pedestrian nature of this little bloglet. No fancy bells and whistles, graphics, visuals, animation or video clips; no clever manipulation of images, and as I made it clear on Tuesday, no rapier-like parrying and thrusting of bon mots. And people are taking peeks, and, I suspect, going away not particularly moved, thrilled, incited or amused. Well, I'm attempting this without any nets, just words alone. I have a visual arts background, and want to attempt to develop a different way of making observations.
It also gives me a record, however seemingly mundane, of my mother's life here in her twilight years. No, not going for the little violins here; rather, it'll be some kind of evidence of her existence, after she's gone. And she is diminishing, by tiny increments, every day. She can't help it, she's old, but there are days when it gets through even her Pollyanna body armor. "My mind feels as if things are curling up in there," she remarked one day. We talk about what might help; oddly, she relishes her routines, such as our walks, since she can remember the route. You'd think variety would be stimulating, but it only rattles her. She starts geting worried about where we left the car, even if it's only two blocks away. I feel as if I live with her in a state of siege; things go on calmly, boring to most everyone outside, but when something happens it is very distressing, mostly to me, since she'll forget it. Well, thus far we have won a few battles, lost a few, on her way to...whatever she considers it, rest or oblivion.
Probably I'd better go make a pie.