In her wheelchair she rolls her 85 year-old self out of her bedroom and down the hall of her loving son's home. Naked, she sits, arms pushing the wheels, her adult diaper on her head. Smiling. Her son and his wife's hearts weep.
Would she, at 45, have wanted it so?
She was fine until the doctor gave her some new meds. Then she, 'Went crazy,' her son tells us. 'Just changed almost overnight.'
Is there such a thing as living too long? Wouldn't it be better to die naturally, with dignity, than to exist in a body drugged and strung along? Isn't old age hard enough on all of us - those who have arrived at that stage and those who watch and help - without turning it into an unnatural, massive, soul-wrenching science experiment?
I'm reminded of lyrics, which may be recalled incorrectly, but the sentiment is there.
Makes me sad. Compassion wells up for us all.
____________
Old Folks
The old folks don't talk much
They talk so slowly when they do
They are rich they are poor
Their illusions are gone
They share one heart for two
Their homes all smell of pine
And old photographs
And an old fashioned song
Though you may live in town
You live so far away
When you've lived too long
Have they laughed too much?
Do their dry voices crack
Talking of things gone by?
Have they cried too much?
A tear or two still always seems
To cloud the eye
They tremble as they watch the old silver clock
When day is through
Tick tock, oh so slow
It says yes it says no
It says I wait for you
The old folks dream no more
Their books have gone to sleep
The piano's out of tune
The little cat is dead
And no more do they sing on a Sunday afternoon
The old folks move no more
Their world becomes too small
Their bodies feel like lead
They might look out a window
Or else sit it a chair
Or else they stay in bed
And if they still go out
Arm and arm, arm and arm
In the morning's chill
It's to have a good cry
To say their last good-bye
To one whose older still
And then they go home
To the old silver clock
When day is through
Tick tock, oh so slow
It says yes it says no
It says, I wait for you
The old folks never die
They just put down their heads
And go to sleep one day
They will hold each other's hands
Like children in the dark
But one will get lost anyway
And the other will remain
Just sitting in a room
Which makes no sound
It doesn't matter now
The song has died away
And echo's all around
You'll see them as they walk
Through the sun-filled parks
Where children run and play
It hurts too much to smile
It hurts so much
But life goes on for still another day
As they try to escape the old silver clock
When day is through
The clock goes so slow
It says yes it says no
It says I wait for you
The old old silver clock
That's hanging on the wall
That waits for us all
-------
The life cycle.
I ache.
And am reminded...
..."We simply dare not waste our youth." ~~ Keith Green
Cinnamon rolls.
Sunrise: 7:44
In an optimistic effort to maintain perspective about the unfortunate gift some of our Thanksgiving guests left for us - sneezed and coughed-out germs that create a nasty bout of cold/bronchitis - I prepared food for my family that not only nourishes the body but brightens the spirit as well. Afterall, wellness begins in the mind, right? It may not end there, but it begins there.
Chicken soup made with lots of vegetables including roasted yams and parsnips bubbling in homemade chicken stock not only lent its aroma to our home, but soothed sinuses and bellies all around. 
After I made and served this meal I went back to bed to watch Simon Birch while I sipped orange juice and spring water in a candlelit room, on a bed with lots of fluffy pillows, thick wool socks around my feet.
Without naming any names, an acquaintance of ours was hit by a car while she was pushing her two year old in a stroller. The child is fine and home with her family. Our friend has a broken pelvis, scrapes, bumps, bruises, and I imagine is in a bit of shock.
Warm temperatures and dry skies called us outside today. So much to do. 
One week of gray and rain and my mind turns to darker days ahead when S.A.D. will plague some of us who live out winter in sunless semi-darkness.
Decades of 'doing it wrong' have instilled crusty, moldy habits - habits that feel as instinctual as breathing and eating. I'll root 'em out. 
In the deli department of one of our favorite markets, Market of Choice, there lies a huge wheel of cheese. Huge. The lady behind the counter, after pointing out all the delicious cheeses on sale during their Harvest Sale, told us that if we could guess the weight of the cheese wheel we'd win a small prize.
"Felt like a tire and tires are 85 pounds."
I know I'm the most boring blogger ever. My posts are about desserts and soups, harvesting and preserving, and the joy that these simple things bring to me. Complete, peaceful joy.
But these simple posts reflect my experience, my feeling. 
Food tastes better when cooked or baked from scratch, yourself. Even better when some effort and sweat have been expended gathering ingredients. Whether foods are grown from seeds in backyard gardens, foraged from the wilderness, squeezed from a goat or cow, or cracked in a family circle around the kitchen table, patience is necessary and satisfaction guaranteed.
My pie just came out of the oven. We'll let it cool and sit overnight, to be sampled tomorrow. For now it is a solid reminder sitting on the counter offering its sweet, nutty aroma not only to our household but the neighborhood as well, an enjoyable reminder to me that preparing food can be art, it can be responsible, it can be affordable, it can be proudly shared across nations - and it can be fun.
While I can't cook treasures for every meal I can present them often. It's a choice and it makes a difference to family and friends - and to me.
