My mother spent the weekend with me in London. I promised to show her good time, and she was eager to join me. She returned to Reading yesterday afternoon. She was eager to go back, too. In the end, I showed her some parts of Notting Hill and Bayswater which Lauren and I consider our immediate neighborhood. We went as far west as Portobello and as far east as Queensway. Away from her home and her daily routine, my mother seemed even more fragile then usual. She clung to her habits even more tenaciously than she normally does. Escorting her every inch of the way, catering to her every wish, I experienced her ways a bit more directly than ever before. In Reading, we keep out of each other’s way much of the time. There was no place to hide in London, though. This time I experienced her slowness to the full. I experienced the lowest of her gears, as it were. Every step stretched for ever. Every move went on an on. Every sentence was interminable. I did not even know such low gears existed.