What a mess. I was telling Lyman's sister this morning that if I should ever remarry, I'll make sure the parents have already passed on. She laughed, as I meant her to.

We have a very ill elderly gentleman on our hands (thank goodness there are a number of them, the hands) and a cantankerous and demented (as in showing definite and repeated signs of senile dementia) 24 kt. gold magnolia. 24 kt. gold, you'll recall, isn't very stout.

She doesn't want any aides at her house, and she flips and cries at the idea of a nursing home. Fact is, she can't take care of him. She thinks she can still cook, but really can't anymore. Yikes, the salt alone could kill him. She can't remember medications. She needs supervision herself.

There's a third option here in Natchez, an assisted living facility where the two can be together, at least for a while. We're pursuing that.

UPDATE: This is the point (and the only point) where I'd like to have a huge house with a private wing where I could put them. Built to ADA standards. With housekeepers and cooks and nurses. I still have to repaint the doorframes in this one where the wheelchair knocked the paint off.

UPDATE II: It was Good Friday last year when I rode with Charles to his sojourn in Jackson.