Day 333. Yankee Doodle

Yesterday was Independence Day in the U.S.  In fact, it was on July 4, 1776 that the Declaration of Independence was apparently signed.  I say “apparently” because the date has been disputed for years and years and years and years.  And years and years.

All that matters is, regardless of the day, the U.S. was no longer under British rule.

I’ve always enjoyed the celebrations.  I like the patriotism.  The pomp.  The parades.  The fireworks.  The partying.  The hotdogs.  The beer.  All of it.

From the time I was nine, I went to a summer camp in Vermont.  In Poultney, Vermont to be precise.  A pretty, little town, on Lake Champlain.  Not far from Montreal.  Maybe a couple of hours, max.

Camp Kinni Kinnic.  An all-girls camp, it was owned by a judge of the juvenile court.  Aunt Jeanette, as we affectionately called her.  Her full name was Jeanette Brill.  She had a son, Herbert, who took it over when she

Day 287. Sound Advice

Kate, who writes Views and Mews by Coffee Kat, had a wonderful post yesterday, about her mother.  More specifically, it was a story about one time she (Kate) had to take her mother to the hospital; and how, when they were on their way, her mom made her stop at a restaurant for lunch.

It immediately made me think of my own mother.  And a trip (one of several) we made to the hospital.

When my mother was in her sixties she was diagnosed with diabetes.  She was put on medication and was watched, like a hawk, by an endocrinologist.  Despite her fondness for chocolate her numbers were always excellent, until the day she died.  They always hovered just slightly above normal.

What will always mystify me, though, is why her body was literally ravaged by the disease, even though her diabetes was so well controlled.  She had every known complication you could think of.  Diabetic retinopathy,