My mother died Monday night. She was 87. Her death was not unexpected.
Actually, it was almost welcomed, considering the condition she had declined
into in just over three years. I made a flying trip from Atlanta to Knoxville
yesterday (190 miles in 2 hours and 45 minutes -- I have a 170 MPH sports car,
a radar detector, and a get-out-of-jail-free card). I'm back home today,
arranging transportation for grandchildren, et al, who want to go up tomorrow
to say good-bye to Gram. I was handling this quite well, as is the family
tradition, but I'm somewhat surprised to realize I've been a bit hyper today,
and a little more weird than usual. Please excuse the redundant posts. Just
trying to keep the feeble brain occupied, I suppose.
Save your condolences. They were appropriate for the loss of a 10-year-old,
and I would've added one, but I just couldn't come up with the right words. My
mother lived a full life and it was her time. I hope to go as peacefully --
unless I manage to be shot naked and fleeing across a dewy lawn by a jealous
husband.
I'll get back to y'all later, either about the meaning of life or whether or
not a T-thing can be used on an E-thing.
Walt, starting to miss Mom
--
"Anything more than 500 yards from
the car just isn't photogenic." --
Edward Weston
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