I called my sister to confirm that I'm to travel on Wednesday. We are on go. Good thing I called. Today was her birthday. I remembered it a week ago, and planned to remark on it. This week? Forgotten.

She is a tad overwrought -- really, just confused -- trying to sort Mother's house out by herself. She's ready for some help.

Near the end of the conversation, she drew her voice up small and said, "You're not going to take Mr. Thumper are you? Mr. Thumper is my friend. He has a special place beside my bed."

I bought this powerful massager because my mother needed considerable back-beating to help clear her lungs for a few years.

Patricia appropriated it for tension and leg problems. (She's a walker.)

I guess she gets Mr. Thumper for her birthday.

I get a burnt-up Roomba.