Here's a good story for everyone. Last night, I made one of my signature dishes "Chicken Medallions with Lemon and White Wine," which my family loves and looks forward to because it's pretty labor-intensive, so I don't make it that much anymore. I took out the rice cooker my son gave me and guessed how much rice/water was needed and turned it on. While I was making the chicken, my son checked on the rice and water was spitting out of the top. He was like, "Mom, I don't think this is right." When we finally checked the cooked rice, it looked like a great big mound of white playdough. My son and daughter said simultaneously, "You can't serve this rice to Daddy, he'll have a fit." So, I had a little rice left in the box and made some on the stove. The lemon chicken was warming in the oven. The string beans were cooked and the table was set. As soon as the rice was done, I put everything on the table and lost my appetite. I laid down on the couch and slept for two hours. I didn't even hear my friend come in the door over an hour earlier. I asked my husband, "why didn't you wake me up?" My friend said, "Because I told him to let you sleep. Erik took care of me, made my plate, and got me everything I needed. And, the chicken was delicious." You have to have very special friends to put up with this insidious illness. My best friend has watched me decline over the last few years and her expectations of my functioning are in line with my own. Some days are good, some days are bad. Everyday, I need several naps. Everyday, I never know when it will hit me like a ton of bricks. Most people would start to avoid the madness, but my BFF keeps showing up never knowing what to expect from me. Now, that's loyalty.