I’m just back from a few days with my mother in Florida. The occasion? The Flower Festival at her Episcopal church. This involves High Tea in the parish hall, (yes, crustless sandwiches, scones w/ clotted cream, and all) plus musical performances in the nave, where flower arrangements by 26 volunteers on the theme of “The Whole World in His Hands” are on display.

My brother Dave, the musical one in our family, was brought in to beef up the tenor section of the Festival Choir, and I was glad to have an opportunity to visit with him. My  mother was thrilled to be able to display us dressed in our Sunday best, for once.

For 93, she’s doing quite well. Her neighbors at Rolling Green treat her like a princess. But still, a daughter worries.

I’ve discovered that the worst part of a visit to my Aged P is the 48 hours after I depart. This is the period in which I am supremely aware of the difficulties she faces, and likewise aware of my inability to do anything about them. Without personal sacrifice of the utmost order that is, like closing down my life and moving to Sarasota to be a caregiving daughter. That should conclude about noon today, as the press of daily responsibilities squeezes out thoughts of the Aged P.

I’m short of time for blogging, so I invite you to revisit “The Dawn Wall and the Sunset Wall,” my impressions captured after last year’s visit to Sarasota.