my mother's birthday was january 24

How did I miss it? I wrote about it in my diary. She would never have lived to be 123. She was 82 when she died, so I have outlived her by almost-soon-to-be TEN years. She and we expected her to go sooner, she complained so much. I guess you expect it of me, too, because I complain a lot. Sorry.

My father predicted his own sudden and immediate death by heart attack and I expected it. I was certain he was going to die when he had the attack, but he surprised me by living another fen years, dying finally, on his sixty-sixth birthday, of cancer of the liver. I wrote a play about his dying (MARK, Playwrights Press).

That’s enough for the 24th of January. I have to go to a hospital this morning for s cardiovascular test—I don’t know why.

I think I’ve burned my porridge….Anon.

new day new beginning new year

I hope. I feel better. Not like young again, or even 80, but like almost 92 and determined to keep going until I’m called.

Those of you who are still there, hang in. I’m going to start thinking again. Soon.

No promises

—and t’s a good thing. Some of the people I swim with had an early birthday party for me because some of them are going to be in warmer places in February. I am replete with good wishes and chocolate cake.

Better.