I've been working on my book. Yes, did I tell you? In between editing jobs, for the past couple years, I've been writing a book. I am happy to say it's almost done. I'm weary. What kind of book, you ask? Well, it's a bit too soon to say for sure, but odds are it's nothing you will be interested in, unless you are a frustrated wannabe dissertator who has repeatedly failed to get a dissertation proposal approved and can't figure out why. Yeah, it's kind of a niche topic.Time out. I just checked the temperature. It's dropped to 88°. I opened the back door and tested the air. Woohoo, the outside air is cooler than the inside air. Time to open up the windows. The sun has dropped below the horizon. The air sluggishly enters the front window, along with the voices of the happy diners sitting on the sidewalk at the cafe across the street. The cat is sleeping awkwardly in the (empty) tub. I notified him that the windows are now open. He didn't budge.
Earlier today, my mother invited me over to enjoy her air conditioning. She forgets that I prefer the heat. Maybe she's lonely. Tomorrow I'm taking her to her fifth physical therapy appointment. She's been doing exercises twice a day to strengthen her gimpy leg and build up her scrawny butt. She says it is helping. Last week I remarked that her stride seemed to be a bit longer, and she beamed. She even sauntered a little bit when she thought I would notice.
Last week was a busy week, with the physical therapy appointment and a visit from my niece and her partner and kid. My brother and I met them at the zoo. Seeing the elephants was fun. No children fell into any cages. The next morning we met for breakfast and my mother came along. It was hot but not sweltering. She ate a turkey sandwich. I had a small margherita pizza (wheat crust, fresh mozzarella, fresh tomatoes, fresh basil), for which I am still paying.
My niece is 25, her child is three. My mother was thrilled to meet her great-grandchild. The kid wasn't all that thrilled to meet her, this funny stick-like lady with the booming voice who smells of cigarettes and tic-tacs. I remember meeting old people when I was young; it wasn't pleasant then. I'm sure it's not pleasant now. Old people are scary.
My mother is aging in place. That's the phrase. You can use it if you want. I hope to someday find a place in which I can age in place. Meanwhile, I'm aging where I am, sweating in the Love Shack.
