A reason we chose to see Tut in Ft. Lauderdale rather than in Los Angeles or Chicago was to see RDC's family. His grandmother, who now was living with his mother, had been in ill health for some time, and he hadn't seen her since October and I since March. He cooked some of her favorites for her, like a pasta dish with escarole ("shk'DALL") and sausage, and we took her to have her hair done, and hung out in a mild kind of way with cannolis and "Skating with the Stars."
A priest visited her yesterday, and her daugher and granddaughter and great-grandson and a cousin, plus a hospice nurse, were with her this morning as she died. She was 85.
Don DeLillo, except for Libra, deserves rereading. I think I first read this on my own, B.C. (Before rdC), and in fact that I was reading it on that day at Uncas that marked the beginning of our cursory courtship. At any rate, I hadn't read it since, and now I know a little more about DeLillo and the Tibetan Book of the Dead and I got a bit more from it.
Was I on crack when I chose The Aeneid? A Blackstone production, read by Frederick Davidson who sounds like a male, British version of pretentious moi, such that his voice inspires self-loathing? Bleah.
But when I have rote tasks to tackle at work, happily I can listen to whatever with headphones, and I haven't read about old Aeneas, so whatever. It will serve.