It bothers her when the light in the mud room is on, or the lights in the back yard. But she always asks if she can turn them off. She thinks I may have a reason for leaving them on, which I never do. Last night she came into the living room with an anxious look, waving her hands toward the back of the house. She said, "Is...? Can...? Oh, I don't..." And she started to turn away discouraged. "Turn off the light?" I said. She spun around and pointed her index finger at me. "YES!," she said, "THANK YOU!" And she was off to darken the mud room.
***
Today I was standing at the pantry door, trying to figure out what to have for lunch. It was complicated by the fact that it was 2:30 in the afternoon, and my decision would have dinner implications. May arrived and stared silently with me into the canned goods. She was the first to speak. "I used to know how to do this. I could just look in there and pick out something to fix. I guess I've forgotten how to do that."
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