Maybe I won't be dwelling on my grandmother's recovery. She's doing fine, her staples are out, and she's walking with a walker, gaining back her strength. She hates the food in there, so my aunt brings her sweets - Frosties from Wendy's, Chips A Hoy, Entemann's coffee cake, to put calories in her.

I hope she'll soon be sent home. It depresses me to think of her in the nursing home with all of those old people, because I don't see an old person when I look at her. I see my grandmother when she was 50 or 60. I have vision problems re: age. I see myself as 35 until I look in the mirror. And then I feel ambushed by gravity, the jerk.

Looks like my aunt will be changing her bag, which upsets me, but why? It's between them, and why do I feel put out by this when I am 1200 miiles away? I personalize everything, that's why. I make things about me. When the compassion/patience/acceptance train pulled into the station, I must've been at the snack bar.

Here's a photo of Nonna, me and Aunt B from two or three years ago: