December 29, 2011
“I have an inferiority complex,” Alice announced almost happily on Christmas day, as if she’d just found one in her stocking.
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January 2, 2011
Alice has fallen in love with a big white Victorian house in southeast Portland that belongs to our friends, Thalia and Mike. The wood inside is richly dark, and the colors are deep reds and golds and blues. Best of all, it’s filled with treasures from their worldwide travels.
We were invited to come on New Year’s Day. Mike had been called to work, so the three of us (actually four, including Brio) were on our own. A Christmas tree stood in the corner of the dining room. The house smelled of pine. Read the rest of this entry »
December 31, 2010
On Christmas day, I brought Alice a fanciful stocking stuffed with good things, thinking it would bring back memories of her childhood Christmases, but it turned out she’d never had such a thing in all her 95 years.
No wonder I’d grown up without one. The things we don’t know about our own mothers. Read the rest of this entry »
December 16, 2010
We were gliding down the soap and lotion aisle of the Dollar Store, Alice with her walker and me with a cart, when she craned her neck, looked around, and asked, “I wonder where they keep the nightcaps.”
Maybe it’s the season, but I immediately pictured this: