Saturday night we took my mother to the Davis Musical Theater Company's production of 42nd Street. Every so often she complains that it has been so long since she has been to a show and I've been waiting for one that I thought she could follow. 42nd Street is a musical which is set in the 1930s and is mostly singing and dancing, so it seemed perfect for her. I knew she would never remember she was going, so I went to Atria to have dinner with her (though she had already eaten when I got there, so I never got dinner) and she wouldn't be blindsided at the last minute, though I must have told her a dozen times what we were going to do. At least she was kinda sorta ready when Walt came to pick us up.
In all honesty, I don't know if she knew where she was or what she was doing there. She sat stoically through the whole thing and never so much as cracked a smile, never clapped once, even during the standing ovation at the end of the show. It was both sweet and sad that I realized before the show that she was watching me looking at the program and turning to the same pages whenever I changed the page. I don't think she actually read the program.
She never said a single word after the show about it. I'm convinced that when she finds the program in her purse she won't have a clue how it got there. So...cross that activity off the list of "things to do to enrich my mother's social life."