Just talked to my mom for a little while. No, actually, my mom talked to me. Its funny, I didnt notice it to be this way when i lived with her, but I dont actually say anything in the conversation other than Hello, Mom?, Uh huh, yeah. And what did they say?, and goodbye. I'm not exaggerating. She tells me she doesnt know whats going on in my life, but when I try to tell her, she has more to say about the dog or the flowers or the mail lady. It doesnt really bother me, but its kind of funny.
She's going to her high school reunion next week in Boise, ID. She spent most of today watering the flowers so they wont die because dad never remembers about them, and making large cassaroles and goulash dishes because she's convinced he'd rather starve than go to the grocery store. I think this was true at one point in their marriage, which has long since passed, but its kind of cute that she hangs on to it.

I actually remember the first time my dad had to go to the grocery store without my mom or one of my older sisters. I was 5 years old. He got really upset about there being more than one brand of flour or dishwashing detergent or sugar, because he thought that they should be universal products. I feel like my dad and I really grew up together.

Momma's bile ducts in her liver are getting smaller, I guess. Apparently, sclerosis makes the liver harden up instead of being floppy and pliant. The other thing I'm kind of worried about is that if it gets to a point where her body isnt processing protiens correctly, she'll get a kind of wild neurosis. Her room mate in Pittsburgh had to be restrained sometimes. Another woman she knew would try to go to the mailbox and then not be able to recognize which house was hers once she got there. The body is a weird place.