In the morning, Ralph took me to the rental car place a couple of towns over to get rid of my car. It’s a day early, but I don’t need it anymore because he’ll drive me up to Heathrow on Monday. I’m quite grateful for that; I didn’t fancy driving in London area traffic and Heathrow’s a particularly difficult place to find your way around.
In the afternoon, we went up to Jean’s house (Jean is Sylvia’s sister, Ralph’s mother) to take her out for lunch. She’s been having problems with an ulcerated foot (exacerbated by blood thinning tablets she needs to take) and now plantar fasciitis. She’s using a walker, though she got by with a cane today. We got to see Simon, Jean’s daughter Cathy’s son and Bella, his daughter, Jean’s great granddaughter. Jean is lucky to live near “all her chickens” as Sylv used to put it. If Sylv had any regrets in the end, it would have been that we weren’t lucky in that way; we didn’t get to see our boys as often as she would have liked when they became adults nor did we get to watch our grandsons grow up.
Ralph and Sue took us to a regal old restaurant out in the country, a touch of bygone British elegance. I had roast beef from the carving cart and Yorkshire pudding – shades of Sylvia’s Sunday roast dinners. The meat was perfect, but to tell the truth, Sylv made better Yorkshire pudding, no question.
In the evening we just lazed around and watched the USA basketball team outclass Serbia for the gold medal. Not much of a game. Too much showboating after the outcome became clear early on.