I took Mom to see a musical version of Little Women today at the Pantages Theater in Hollywood.
It was a big outing, and she enjoyed it. It was a gamble to get tickets because we never know when she will have a sleepy day and be unrousable for most of the day.
Thank goodness, she had a normal day today and was wide awake and attentive during most of the three-hour performance.
There was a kind of box-like platform near the 30th row of seats, on the side, where the usher rolled her in her wheelchair and brought a chair for me.
"Box seats!" I told her.
She wanted popcorn, but they only sold candy.
Now and then I updated her on the facts of the plot, whispering.
She usually whispered back something like, "He's going to rape her!"
"No," I answered. "That's not in this story."
At the end she commented something about "the story of the Marlboro man, who sits next to me in the dining room."
"Yes," I answered. "Ralph sits next to you. He was the first Marlboro man. He's such a gentleman, always polite."
"He never smoked," she says.
"Right... that's why he lived so long." (The second Marlboro man died long ago of lung cancer.)
I think she knows she is in Hollywood and has seen a fancy show with actors, so she's connecting it to her friend in the Reminiscence Neighborhood, the actor who did the Marlboro commercials in the 1950s.
But now she is off and running with another memory: "He called for me to come because he would die in 45 minutes. I came, and he died in my arms."
"That's Elbert," I say. "You went to see Elbert." I don't correct her details: he didn't die in your arms, and the time frame wasn't exactly 45 minutes.
Was it worth it to take her to this show?
I don't know... she enjoyed it, but her mind went to some unusual places with it.