Once in a while I get fearful of the inevitable future: getting older. But the getting older part doesn’t scare me, it’s the actuality of being old. Like really old: 85+. We performed the obligatory Thanksgiving ritual this year last Sunday, as half of the B’s in-town family will be joining us on our mini-break to Canada, and we wanted to make sure that the B’s grandma was going to get something for the holiday. The B’s grandmother is about 10 years older than my own grandmother, from what I understand; where my grandmother still lives by herself, and is perfectly able to go to the grocery store and pick up her mail at the post at 70+, the B’s grandmother is in an assisted-living home and suffers from what they call dementia. Whenever we see her, she relates the same stories over and over again. I can’t imagine not being able to keep people straight in my head – “Are you my husband, my son, or my grandson?” It scares the hell out of me.
So I was laying in bed last night, thinking about my life, and more recently, the trip to Australia. It seems that the knowledge of the trip is still there in my head, but usually when I reflect on it, it is just the facts that come to mind – the mundane knowledge of the generalities of the adventures I experienced while abroad. I thought it may be best to actually write something down about the intricacies and feelings I had during the trip… so here you go:
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Hey, that was a fun read. Now I'm dying to go to Australia!
Happy Thanksgiving!
Posted by: teahouseblossom at November 24, 2004 2:02 PM