Tuesday will be day three of visiting assisted living set-ups while my brother-in-law keeps Mom occupied at her home in Florida. It's the day my sister joins in the search. It's the first item which might start causing family stresses between us.
'Cause I'm willing to give her plenty of leeway with living arrangements provided she a) has possible companionship b) has someone to keep track of her medication and c) doesn't drive. My sister may be in favor of a stricter confinement. My sister's more concerned about the forgetfulness. I'm not sure who's right.
Just a word, though, about the place I looked at today. It's just a couple of miles away, on what's left of Bacon's Swamp (what the wetlands people at the Indiana DNR call Bacon's Lake in some of the literature I looked at today. I'm not sure if that's in deference to the retirement village on its shores or some age-old distinction.) The Bacons owned the place in the 1820s, meaning they're some of the earliest whites in the area. It's said their farm, and the swamp, was a stop on the Underground Railroad.
The swamp is (so I read) the southernmost sphagnum bog in the US and attracted an otherwise alien fauna. (There was some scholarly work done in the 20s on Bacon's Swamp which I've been intending for the last ten years to go look up.)
It covered 100 acres.
They built a road through the swamp in 1914. It sank.
They built another road through it in 1937. It failed to float.
When the post-war construction boom hit the Mallot Park area construction fill was thrown in the swamp. When four children drowned in two separate incidents in the 50s the city instituted a "Fence n' Fill" program. Mosquitoes were also cited as a problem. A conservation effort sank, like those earlier roads.
It's sobering to realize that my basement may be over there somewhere.