And a blood offering shall be burnt to La Duermita!

A freshly minted me has crawled out of the exhausted cicada shell of the old! Seven hours of delightful slumber last night, and all care falls away. Well, mostly. My mom seems to be experiencing one of her little tilted plateaus; picture a downward slanting slab of rock, reaching downward beyond sight, which we are picking our way down with trepidation, trying not to misstep. Another near-fainting episode on a short walk today, odd behaviors; having no experience in caring for someone who's declining, I find myself anticipating the worst, which of course is possible. I'm just not the eternal optimist she always was, glimmers of which still show in her. Somehow I need to graft some different quality to my nature, because these things get me down.
A climbing acquaintance of mine, a most intelligent young woman who's in fact an OB/GYN, revealed during the course of a joking exchange that she had no idea what a rutabaga was. Today I obtained a prize-winning specimen, organic no less, and shall put it in my climbing pack so that I may educate her upon its appearance. My dear friend the vegan is prepared to instruct Ms. Doc upon the rutabaga's appeal and uses in cooking. One is never too old to learn about the rutabaga.