<< No thanks to bingo >>
2002-11-13 - 2:26 p.m.

My dad just called, which is a bad sign anyway. I mean, I talk to my dad on the phone all the time, but he never picks up the phone and calls me. Taking my grandmother to the nursing home has gone very, very badly. She just keeps glaring at everyone and saying over and over again to my mother, "I just don't know what I've done to deserve this." Yeesh.

The idea of Mary "I've Never Worn Pants" Hoffmann playing bingo with the other old prunes is jarring and depressing. She won't have fun. Grandmamma is not exactly classist, having never been overburdened with money herself---or if she is, she is in the old school, Jane Austen sense. She is a Lady, and though she is incredibly polite and charming to everyone, she doesn't want to be left in the company of people who are not Ladies and Gentlemen. (Of course, no one in my immediate family is a Lady or a Gentleman, but she never seemed to notice this.)

How terrible it must be to be old and feeble and not sure where you are except that it doesn't seem to be where you want to be. I have no desire to die young, but I think 80 years is a good long life--there's not much to look forward to when you can't bathe yourself. Maude was right about that one.

Poor Mom. I really ought to be there to help.



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