Flowers and farms

Mom's birthday, Aug. 20, with Ms. V.

Well, thanks to all those who sent cards and letters and flowers to Mom for her birthday. I read her every word, and she was pleased. It was her 84th, her fourth since she moved.

I went to get her for church this morning and found her doubled over in her chair. I wasn't sure if she was asleep or just didn't have the wherewithal to sit up straight. I sat her up and said, "Do you want to go to church, or should we just skip it?"

"Let's skip it," she said.

For her, a radical decision. For myself, I'm hoping we can just stop going to church, since very often we are on the drowsy side.

Mom lately has been saying things like this:

"It's hard to figure out."

"Did you get the tickets?"

"Make sure you get a big one so we can all fit."

I agree, or reassure, or say I will, and I have no idea what she's talking about. But they are the kinds of issues a lot of her life was made up of -- managing four kids, planning trips and outings. So, though the substance of the events are long gone, she's still tending to the logistics.

Today, in the Bistro, she said, "See those red flowers down there? They're so beautiful."

They were beautiful, and I felt moved that she got that out. And later, a man passed us and said, "Hi Mary."

"He recognized me," Mom said.

"Everybody here knows you, Mom," I said.

"That's right, you can't hide," she said.

A joke, and I did laugh.

*

I rode my bike 300 miles over five days a week ago -- with all kinds of gear. I'm not sure how long I can go on doing this, but I had fun.

Highway 45.
As high as an elephant's eye.

Here's looking at ewe.

Wisconsin gothic.

Back home, at a wedding last night, with V and young Ahna.
(I have a congenital inability to smile.)