Guilt and more guilt

I bought this bike last week at the Madison bike show during a two-day visit with Ms. V. It cost way too much, and I know that my good friend B will excoriate me for going to carbon fiber, but, as I say, I wanna keep up with my friends. On B's behalf, I have to acknowledge that it does feel a little worryingly like a toy. For the long camping trips, I still have my steel bike, still in fighting trim.

I had anguished about this for years. It's not just the cost, but the morality of it, the guilt that accompanies it. Do I need it? No. Am I happy with what I have? Yes. Am I a spoiled, entitled American with no perspective on what's really important? Yes. But do I want it? Yes. 

I found Mom last night slumping sideways in a gaggle of her colleagues in the penalty box. She was fresh from a hair-washing and was nicely dressed, but, in her face and eyes, she did not look good. I took her down the hall to her room, and we sat looking at pictures and videos on my iPad (guilt guilt guilt). We made a birthday call to young E -- he's 25 -- and she managed to put a few appropriate sentences together, which was encouraging. Then I brought her back to the corner, where Jessie was reading a story, and said I'd be back on Saturday.

Maybe because I'm there so often, mom's place has given my name to a University of Minnesota researcher who is testing a thing called the Residential Care Transition Module. It's for people like me who have a family member in a care setting. If I'm not in the "control" group, I'll get six counseling sessions with a "trained transition coach" over a four-month period, and at the end of it they will study the efficacy of their program. I said yes mainly because they promised me $25 at the end of it.

No, really, I could use a little counseling. I never thought I'd be here, and I'm up for anything.

Here's a full, rather technical explanation: https://clinicaltrials.gov/ct2/show/NCT02915939

The marina