I came to Minneapolis from southern California this May to help my 88-year-old mother care for my 86-year-old father. He fell last November, and then declined cognitively for a month as his bones healed at a rehab facility under quarantine. He hasn't undeclined. Before retiring in the 1990s, he was a theater critic, & still seems to have some of his self-confidence and wit alongside vascular dementia, Parkinsonisms, incontinence and real trouble walking. Given his otherwise-ok health, he might still have some tolerable years ahead, though with new parameters.
My mom's a novelist. She seems made of iron.
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Warm cup of coffee with friends.
I learned a super scary story about monsters called "The Hobyahs." I'm going to tell it to some kids and scare the crap out of them. Hee hee!
Burnt toast and the smell from a cap gun.
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