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The Tickler came over a little later than usual last night. We tried an Indian place down the hill from me that they've wanted to try for quite a while, and ended up paying way too much for what we got. It was to the point that the next day they said they were mad about that.
And then I was a bad girlfriend by punking out on them at about 2200. I'd spent all afternoon cleaning my house – uncharacteristic procrastination – and despite a third cup of tea and a good night's sleep the night before, I was just wiped out after climbing the hill after dinner.
I did my best to make it up to them, though, by taking them out to the Fremont Sunday Market and then to lunch at Made In House, the rightly popular Korean place on Fremont Place. It was a hit! The Tickler won't eat anywhere we can't sit outside, and if you're going to do that in Seattle in February, Korean food in a hot stone bowl is just the ticket.
Good Sister tried to get me on Facetime so I could talk to Mom and I got to tell her, via video, that I had just gotten out of the shower and was therefore buck naked in my kitchen and could I please call her back? TMI, she said. A first for me: covering my boobs with one arm while on the phone to my sister. I have to love living in the future.
I did talk to Mom shortly afterward. I'm not completely sure she knew who I was, and her attention kept wandering to the TV. I showed her around the house, since it was dark here the last time we talked, not that she remembered anything anyway. Nothing too surprising, really.
Who I really wanted to talk to was Good Sister. The news of Mom is about as you'd expect: she makes absolutely no sense after noon Eastern time, she likes it when GS takes her for a walk in a wheelchair, and she says she's having trouble swallowing. That last heralds the terminal stage of frontotemporal dementia, as Good Sister predicted long ago. The good (?) news is that GS is pretty sure that Mom is going to die before she runs out of money.
And then I was a bad girlfriend by punking out on them at about 2200. I'd spent all afternoon cleaning my house – uncharacteristic procrastination – and despite a third cup of tea and a good night's sleep the night before, I was just wiped out after climbing the hill after dinner.
I did my best to make it up to them, though, by taking them out to the Fremont Sunday Market and then to lunch at Made In House, the rightly popular Korean place on Fremont Place. It was a hit! The Tickler won't eat anywhere we can't sit outside, and if you're going to do that in Seattle in February, Korean food in a hot stone bowl is just the ticket.
Good Sister tried to get me on Facetime so I could talk to Mom and I got to tell her, via video, that I had just gotten out of the shower and was therefore buck naked in my kitchen and could I please call her back? TMI, she said. A first for me: covering my boobs with one arm while on the phone to my sister. I have to love living in the future.
I did talk to Mom shortly afterward. I'm not completely sure she knew who I was, and her attention kept wandering to the TV. I showed her around the house, since it was dark here the last time we talked, not that she remembered anything anyway. Nothing too surprising, really.
Who I really wanted to talk to was Good Sister. The news of Mom is about as you'd expect: she makes absolutely no sense after noon Eastern time, she likes it when GS takes her for a walk in a wheelchair, and she says she's having trouble swallowing. That last heralds the terminal stage of frontotemporal dementia, as Good Sister predicted long ago. The good (?) news is that GS is pretty sure that Mom is going to die before she runs out of money.
