Because she insisted, I "let" Mom drive her own car to the grocery store. I was fully prepared to take her shopping, but she phoned me this morning and said she was going. She tried her car and it started, and her ankle felt good enough to walk on.

Yeah, well. She's just barely starting to get over the gout, and she's still on the medication. And her car has been known to have problems starting, problems the mechanic says he can't fix. Apparently nobody can fix a 1978 Plymouth Sapporo, and nobody much wants to. Something about no parts being available and not enough of those cars still running to make it worthwhile.

There won't be any of those cars still running once Mom's stops for good. But today she managed to get it to the grocery store parking lot. By sheer coincidence, I just happened along at the exact moment she was unloading her cart into the trunk. I helped her finish and then waited until she started up the ancient vehicle. Just in case.

Good for her. She wants to be independent, and she doesn't want a little thing like a painful disease to keep her from doing what she wants to do and going where she needs to go. I don't think she'd be afraid to call for help if she needed it, and I think she's in tune enough with her own body that she won't push herself too hard. At least, that's the thought I'm going with. Otherwise, I'd worry.

In fact, I'd like to think I'd be as stubborn as she is, if the same thing happened to me. I'd politely thank the people who were trying to help me, and then tell them to get out of my face. I'd worry about everybody else more than myself, and I'd be up and around and doing for myself three or four days before anyone expected it. That's what I'd like to think I'd do. The reality would probably be a little less noble and selfless.