Easter Weekend, and that must mean a family get-together of some kind...

The girls and I are having our oshi mugi with butter and brown sugar (brunch!) and rubberstamping. The dining room table is a mess, but who cares? Lil, my five year old, is my little artist. She can draw incredibly well and has a serious interest in all things art. She has a tiny paintbrush in her hands right now and she is carefully painting in details on her rubber stamp. You never have to tell her how to do something. She always knows exactly how she wants something to look. Give her a palette of paint and she will spend several minutes mixing her own colors (just like Mommy) until she gets it right. I love that about her.

Not much to report today. We are going to go on a nature walk in a little while and John has family in town for the weekend. His grandmother has been awfully wiggy lately, writing whining letters and airing her grievances. I get to see her tomorrow, and I am just hoping she doesn't make my visit too uncomfortable. For some reason, she has found a name for her pain and, well -- you know the rest... In any given family, on any given day, somebody is being difficult. I suppose it is Nonnie's turn to act the nutball. I get to see my own grandmother next month when the girls and I will travel back home to Los Angeles. She is ninety-five and going strong, but she has become a bit petulant herself of late. I can't pretend to understand what it must be like to grow old and suffer the indignity of losing pieces of yourself with every passing month. Small freedoms, which I take for granted, like driving and gardening and even changing your own sheets or bathing yourself in private, are beginning to crumble away from my grandmother. She frets and I try to understand. It's dangerous for her to be on the roads, but she would still like to try. She has trouble getting in and out of the shower and she might fall, but she doesn't want you to wash her naked body. The news makes her fearful and anxious, but who are we to tell her what she should or should not watch? I have genuine empathy for her. I can see that when she takes a look around her, everybody is the enemy. We are trying to control her. I know why the elderly are so often paranoid. I would be, too.