SummerSolstice of Zenith
Jun. 21st, 2023 10:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ismoMain event of the day was Madame. She was getting her hair done, and called me to suggest I should come and pick her up at the salon when she was ready. I was not too pleased with that--I did it once before, and it's irritating trying to get into the parking lot etc. But I said I would. I was then rescued by Mademoiselle, bless her, who texted me to ask if I'd talked to her mom. It turns out that Mademoiselle was planning to pick her up and drop her off at the bookstore. Madame knew this, but had forgotten. So I just moseyed over there and waited for them to show up. This gave me time to pick out a couple of birthday cards and buy two books I probably shouldn't have. They were used kids books--one a very nice picture book about Black Elk, "Black Elk's Vision," by S. D. Nelson, and the other "The Girl Who Drew Butterflies: How Maria Merian's Art Changed Science," by Joyce Sidman. This is a beautifully designed and illustrated book about a woman I never heard of before. Born in 1647 in Frankfurt, she had an amazing life of observational science and artistic achievement.
I had just bought myself a blackberry lemonade and picked a spot in the cafe when Madame showed up. Her hair was looking great. She was interested to hear of my adventures. Alas, I don't think her week was entirely successful. When we last spoke, she was enthusiastic about a new companion Mademoiselle had hired. They seemed to get along well, and she was looking forward to this woman taking her to the Y for exercise and then out to lunch. Today, she wouldn't say much about it. I gathered from a few hints that the visit had not gone well. Using my novelist's knack for plausible scenarios, I hypothesize that Madame thought she could hornswoggle this woman into giving her the car keys. When that didn't happen, Madame gave her what-for, and I doubt that was well received. That's a bone she's not going to let go of. When we got back to her house, she was reluctant to say good-bye. I accompanied her up the steps and waited while she got the door unlocked. There was a package on her doorstep. I was about to leave, when she said, "Wait a minute--don't you want to know what's in it?" I humored her, but it wasn't a birthday present. It was another mini-camera her daughter had ordered for keeping an eye on her! Lordy, lordy. The sooner she moves to a retirement home, the better, but my heart hurts for her because I know what a hard decision this is, especially when your brain isn't working on all cylinders.
I thought about the end of LotR. When we used to drive back from Michigan through Kansas to Texas, we'd listen to the audio version, and driving through western Kansas, we'd get to the final chapters. It was all goodbye, goodbye, goodbye--just like the trip we were on. I remember barreling through the Flint Hills with tears streaming down my face. If only we could all go like Bilbo--accompanied by Elves on our last adventure, with the people we loved best by our side, on an easy voyage to an undying land more beautiful than we can imagine.
I felt extremely lucky to drive home, once more negotiating a tiresome number of construction detours, and have tea with the Sparrowhawk. It's still hot and dry. This weather does not agree with me. I had to use the inhaler again while fixing dinner.
I had just bought myself a blackberry lemonade and picked a spot in the cafe when Madame showed up. Her hair was looking great. She was interested to hear of my adventures. Alas, I don't think her week was entirely successful. When we last spoke, she was enthusiastic about a new companion Mademoiselle had hired. They seemed to get along well, and she was looking forward to this woman taking her to the Y for exercise and then out to lunch. Today, she wouldn't say much about it. I gathered from a few hints that the visit had not gone well. Using my novelist's knack for plausible scenarios, I hypothesize that Madame thought she could hornswoggle this woman into giving her the car keys. When that didn't happen, Madame gave her what-for, and I doubt that was well received. That's a bone she's not going to let go of. When we got back to her house, she was reluctant to say good-bye. I accompanied her up the steps and waited while she got the door unlocked. There was a package on her doorstep. I was about to leave, when she said, "Wait a minute--don't you want to know what's in it?" I humored her, but it wasn't a birthday present. It was another mini-camera her daughter had ordered for keeping an eye on her! Lordy, lordy. The sooner she moves to a retirement home, the better, but my heart hurts for her because I know what a hard decision this is, especially when your brain isn't working on all cylinders.
I thought about the end of LotR. When we used to drive back from Michigan through Kansas to Texas, we'd listen to the audio version, and driving through western Kansas, we'd get to the final chapters. It was all goodbye, goodbye, goodbye--just like the trip we were on. I remember barreling through the Flint Hills with tears streaming down my face. If only we could all go like Bilbo--accompanied by Elves on our last adventure, with the people we loved best by our side, on an easy voyage to an undying land more beautiful than we can imagine.
I felt extremely lucky to drive home, once more negotiating a tiresome number of construction detours, and have tea with the Sparrowhawk. It's still hot and dry. This weather does not agree with me. I had to use the inhaler again while fixing dinner.
