So a few months ago I asked Mum what I might be able to do to help her out after her toe surgery (other than be creeped out by the very real possibility that I, too, may someday have hammertoes in need of painful repair). She called me back a few days later.
"I've been thinking," she said, "and I've come up with something you could do for me."
[I'm imagining an assignment such as doing laundry or buying groceries.]
"How about you drive to Connecticut with your father to pack up Aunt Betty and move her up to Maine?"
Ask and ye shall receive.
My father's sister has a dry humor and a what-you-see-is-what-you-get attitude. She's a sketch and we're so glad she's moved up here to Dirigo Pines. Now Grrrrrreat Aunt Betty, as my kids call her (a la Tony the Tiger) can be subjected to all our chaotic family gatherings without suffering through a 6-hour drive. I wonder how long until she asks for a ride back to CT...?
This is Betty in her old apartment after the movers had come and gone. We borrowed a chair from down the hall so she'd have a place to sit.
What did I even write?
23 hours ago