After approximately five weeks in the hospital, this afternoon my mother sat in her front garden and she was feasting on potato chips.
She herself wasn’t too sure about her condition. “I’m weak,” she said.
“Are you happy to be home?” I wanted to know.
“People keep telling me that it’s better than the hospital.” In general she despises public display of happiness. She would never say: “I’m so happy to be home.” And on this issue I’m totally on her side. Yes, we have emotions, but please: be as secretive as possible.
This afternoon, the general physician came and he appeared to be impressed by my mother’s new heart valve. But the older my mother gets the more she becomes a stoic.
Dinner consisted of tomato soup, a herring and yoghurt with berries.
(Please, don't forget the fundraiser for Bolivia, Sunday September 14, 4 p.m. Prinsengracht 438, Amsterdam, The Netherlands. I won't be there but my semen will be for sale.)