Long weekend in NY

Being in my office in July isn't especially demanding; once Bastille Day rolls around, most people are headed out on long (that is, often month-long) vacations. I took advantage of my second Independence Day this month to make visits in New York...saw Natalie, hung out with mom, and got to spend time with my ailing gramma.

She couldn't remember the word "sunflower" or one of my Alaskan cousins' names, but we had good conversations about her learning French, for example, while a math major at Brown. I hadn't realized how funny she is (my mom said last time she knocked on my grandma's door, she said "come in if you're gorgeous") or how deeply I have roots in Brooklyn (my grandpa and she both grew up there). But we spent yesterday in her nursing home, which is always at least mildly depressing. At lunch, there was one table of ladies who did not say a single word to one another. Where we were eating, two buddies criticized the taciturn grannies and another, more quarrelsome table and kept repeating that they themselves were "amiable." When people started leaving the dining area, gramma told me to "watch the parade." Afterwards, my mom (an RN) asked me never to put her in a home.

Start wearing purple

I'm a sucker for stories about old, especially very old people; maybe it's because 3/4 of my grandparents didn't live to see me turn 13. At any rate it seems that by the time you get to be, oh, 80, 90, or 100, everything that should be softened or sharpened in you gets better.

I especially like hearing stories about old people while they are still alive, and this particular one in the NYT gave me hope. It's funny to imagine, for example, Ms. Smith reading something like The Age of Innocence decades before I ever did...and having lived through that era. Plus, if I live to see an entire century (or even a mere 94 years), I wanna be the kind of lady who takes the subway and teaches classes.