These Are Suitcases

Yes, bathed in the morning light, here lie the implements of travel.

It is quite possible that I'm delusional, but on Saturday I'm planning to fly my with mother to the east coast where we will be fetched from the airport by my brother. The very large suitcase in the rear of the above photo will be jammed to the brim because my mom is going to stay at my brother's place for a month while I take two the smaller suitcases and head off to Alaska with a friend for two weeks.   I do not know the details of our planned travels with  a local chapter of the Sierra Club since my friend made all of the plans and I have yet to read any of the details. Hiking boots. I need those. Rain gear. Yoga pants. Because part of the trip involves a cruise and there will be yoga. And dancing shoes. There may be dancing on the ship. I may dance everywhere.

In order for this to happen, we must sign my mother out of hospice. (Medicare does not allow more than one hospice transfer in any given benefit period.) But the new medication regimen will remain in place, and that seems to be the element that has turned the tide. The tide is such a fickle thing, so I'll focus on something else. Like how I will turn around and fly back here 48 hours after I arrive at my brother's house, so that I can then drive to my friend's house in L.A. and fly with her to Alaska.

Right now my mom is shuffling in and out of her room looking at the suitcase I've set in the hall outside her door. "Socks," she's muttering. Pills, I'm thinking. Who cares about socks?