The Little Old Lady From Tinley Park (go granny, go granny, go Granny, go)

I saw Mom again on Wednesday. She's doing well in her new home, The Crossing. When I arrived she was dining with her two table mates, Harriet and Marie, so I sat down with them and started the small talk.

"So, Harriet, where did you grow up?"

"Throw up? I didn't throw up."

"No, grow up."

"Yes, I do like pups."
I then turned to Marie.

"Marie, how's the food here? Pretty good?"

Marie kept her head down and continued picking at her lunch.

"What's her name?" Asked Harriet while pointing at my mom.
"That's Lila."

"What?"

"Lila."

"Well, Ida looks good today, don't you think?"

"Yes, Lila always looks good. She's my mother, so she always looks good."

"What? Hard of hearing, you know."

"Yes, I figured that out."

"Oh no. It's too cold to go out."

All this was spoken in loud voices, yet not one of the other diners looked over to our table to see what the commotion was about. It's no wonder that dining room is so quiet. Why waste your breath in conversation when nobody can hear? Finally Mom Brusquely tells me, "Let's get out of here." She then spins away from the table in her Hoveround^® and off she goes. First a stop in the fireplace room for Mom to warm her hands, then we go exploring through the huge residential complex.

"Stay in front of me Alan... Why is this thing so slow?"

Mom is upset that her electric cart has been so slow lately. She looks down at the controls, pokes at a button on the armrest, and suddenly she's off. Speeding away from me at twice the speed of my fastest walk.

"Come on Alan, catch up."

But I can't and I ask her to slow that thing down.

"You can run."

"No, I can't. Bad feet, bad knee... " I huff and puff to her.

I'm not sure how well Mom is adapting to life at The Crossing. But I am sure she's having fun screwing with her children when they visit. She complained to my brother Gary the other day, that nobody brings her chocolate. He felt bad, until he looked around and discovered her secret stash of candy. Including the Ghirardelli chocolates that I buy her every week.