Running Up a Hill

Went in to see Mom yesterday. She was about the same, asleep most of the time and when her eyes were open, they were focused on something else, usually the crucifix over my father's bed.

Dad was extremely quiet, but then it was nearly 100 degrees. He hates air conditioning, so we sat in the heat and tried to read our newspapers. I wore a dress that kept sticking to my legs. I brought Dad the cottage cheese he asked me to pick up for lunch, but he ate a sandwich instead. After a while, I took his book of Irish short stories from the bookcase and read a funny but sad piece by Joseph O'Connor. I think it was called "All Mothers Were the Same."

Went home and drank a bunch of Guinesses with my amazing neighbor, V, who took the offspring to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory while I was gone. She stir-fried asparagus and sesame seeds in her new wok and boiled some dumplings she got from Trader Joe's for dinner. Then Peter came over with some pizzas.

Today I took the girls to piano lessons and changed the sheets. Whenever I'm out of this place for a whole day, it takes me another day to catch up. I managed to cook dinner for the first time in almost a week. Didn't get any real writing done, though, which irritates me.

My cousin, Chris, just called me with the names of some restaurants in Westchester we'll consider for the reception after my Mother's burial. Sibling 2 asked him for them; she figures it's better that we make arrangements now, instead of trying to plan a menu between appearances at the wake.

Peter is home. I'm hungry. Let's eat.