fake money

Louisa is probably a millionnaire. She looks like one. Even at 96 she holds herself in that post-debutante manner that just drips with having.

I have enough now, but add up the years... and I have rarely known enough. Eventually the balance will come... those days of enough balancing with the many years of lack. For now, I notice the differences.

So even though she is well down the rabbit hole, well into the bermuda triangle that is dementia, she likes to carry money. She will also wipe her butt with it in a moment of inattention, so it is a casualty of the realm that I ask and I ask and I ask families please please do not give your crazy little mama daddy auntie any cash.

But they do.

And here are the girls, working for not enough, never enough to still the craving mouths of the many little baby birds at home, having to discover the money and make that critical decision not to keep it. Not. to. keep. it. I understand the depth of their decision. And when one of them leaves the cash in a little envelope on my desk and waits for me to find it and open it and get rid of it so the temptation can be gone because until we both know it is there, nobody knows it is there. Not really. And there is a star in heaven for Jessica tonight.

I went to the dollar store and bought some play money for Louisa. But that wasn't good enough. Her nephew found it, threw it away, and gave her the real thing.

When we found it on the floor I soooooooooooooooo wanted to give it to Jessica.