Mom On the Loose

Sometimes I feel bad about letting Mom go out to get the mail. She has to use the walker to get to the end of the driveway and back and she fumbles with the inner front door and the screen door coming and going. (They're just far enough apart for the walker to fit between on the "porch" but close enough that they each block her from opening the other.) On the other hand, she wants to do it and apart from puttering around in the kitchen it's about the only exercise she gets nowadays. Still, it's 90+ out there most days by the time the postal person shows up so I time her excursions (surreptitiously, of course) and check out the window (discreetly, of course) until she returns. Perhaps I am overly concerned. Yesterday she came back dragging a 40 gallon trash can behind her. I think it was a hint to my brother to finish weeding the walkway.