On This Date Two Years Ago We Were Readying to Depart on a Tour of Scandinavia with my 93-Year Old Mom-in-Law

And here's a post from somewhere in the middle of the journey.

Sunday, September 19, 2004

Somewhere in Norway

I am paying to post this and that, like the imminence of death, sharpens the mind. This trip is about mom: Does she have the stamina to make it? Three days ago on the cloudy fjords we were beginning to doubt it, but Eydie gave her a laxative that stimulates the smooth muscles and Eydie has concluded that the brain, like the intestine, is a smooth muscle. The jokes that will someday flow from this statement warm my heart.


For whatever reason, mom has perked up. My theory is that her difficulty in moving rapidly and thinking clearly make her think about death, whatever else she is thinking, so she is somewhat depressed. Naturally, her daughter thinks about her mother thinking about death, which is not the optimum mood stimulant. I am just my natural morose self!!! As for Norway, you are all inivited to come see the slides, most of which have been shot at glacial shutter speeds. That explains Munch -- it was all his mental shutter speed.

Meanwhile, I gather that Kerry continues to trail. Never mind, John! I will soon be back with a headful of ideas stimulated by a certain smooth muscle....

Update two years later:

1) Moms Landrith didn't die during the trip. About a year ago her Florida docs -- where it's literal hot weather 12 months a year but always metaphorical autumn, the old folk constantly dropping from life like withered leaves, so death is thick on the ground -- diagnosed her as having scarring of the lungs. Now she lugs an oxygen bottle about. She's 95. She may make a hundred.

2) It took us more than a year to pay off the loan we took out for that damn trip. Not so much complaining as asking for credit. Metaphorical credit. No more loans, please.

3) That nice Kerry fellow lost. If the election were held today, he would win. Bush has heaped error on error, creating problems and then proceeding to compound those problems. I hate living in a time in which one may take a small pleasure in knowing that one won't be around for the worst of it later. No. That's the wrong end of things. I wish I could be around longer, Living Treasure that I am, to help clean up the mess. Go for 95! Dream of one hundred!