The Picture Is TAKEN.

KidThree went with me to the newspaper office, where I told the cute young photographer that I wanted her to be in the picture with me because my guest column was about her. The cute young photographer was very obliging, taking several shots of the two of us until there was one with no funny shadows, but then he took one of just me "in case 'they' really insisted." What do you want to bet that is the one that is used? I didn't like the picture and wanted to redo it, but KidThree liked it, so what the heck.

The movie yesterday was wonderful. FriendL and I went to see "Tell No One," as the movie reviewer for our local paper raved about it, and it was that good. Oh my. Complex, surprising, beautifully acted--all things we like to see in movies. It'll go on our Blockbuster list so KidOne and KidThree can watch it. KidThree will need a couple of viewings to get the story straight, as it is in French with subtitles, but she'll love it.

Tomorrow I'll be watching LadyP from 11:30 until 5. LadyP's daughter and husband will be going to look at two residential facilities for her. This is such a hard devolution to watch; LadyP is such a wonderful person and her family loves her so much. Her husband is devastated at the thought of putting her in a facility, as he can't bear the thought of her being frightened and alone, but at the same time he knows her condition is such that he is not physically able to properly care for her on his own. I can see LadyP's deterioration just in our twice-weekly visits--she is growing physically weaker and less able to remember things almost by the day. When I'm with her, I interact with her on two levels: Level one is that of two women sharing some time. I keep up a running conversation of what is going on in my life (kids, their school, the newspaper columnist), speaking slower than normal and occasionally asking a simple question that I know she'll be able to answer so she can feel like she is appropriately involved in the conversation. Level two is that of a child, about age four. I hold her hand and arm tightly when we're walking, comment on the color of the bicycles we see flash past, point out interesting cars and dogs and people. LadyP responds to all that, too; the level is just right for her. She can understand that a particular bicycle is an amazing pink, or that a certain dog is the hairiest we've seen in weeks. I am so very grateful that neither of my parents has that horrible, ghastly disease. Dad is forgetful, but short-term only and in large part because of meds--his essential self is mostly untouched. More than losing any or all of the functions of my body, losing control of my mind is what I fear the most.

Here at home, summer is mostly ended and the college kids are returning. Our building of eight apartments here is filling up with some new tenants and a few returning ones. One of the two young men who live directly above us is so friendly and polite to me when he sees me, it cracks me up. I don't feel old inside, but obviously to him I am a woman the age of his parents to whom he must be respectful and around whom he must mind his manners. Living around all these kids is a little like being a cub scout den mother. When I'm in the laundry room and pulling their laundry out of the washers or dryers or adding money to their dryers so their clothes can get thoroughly dry or folding their dry clothes, I feel like their nanny--all I want to do is take all of them aside and give them laundry lessons. "Kids, this is How we sort the laundry, this is Why we sort the laundry, this is Why my whites are white and yours are dingy gray, and this is What Happens if you try to cram too many items in the machines."

Time to go take care of KidThree. We have group this afternoon; this will be a session without me, since I attended the last one to explain about the special gym.

A