Popcorn

One of the surviving pleasures in Mom's life is a bag of popcorn.
Her residence has a popcorn machine in the lobby, and whenever she passes it, she demands some, though she often can't remember the word.
"I want some of that candy," she will say.
For a couple of years, she wasn't allowed to eat popcorn because her swallowing has become less competent; her potential for choking is great. But because she loves the popcorn so much, I gave in and started letting her have it again.
I think she'd rather die by asphyxiation from popcorn than never have it.
I came to visit her briefly even though her private caregiver, Connie, came today for 8 hrs.
I wheeled her down to the first floor, got her some popcorn, and wheeled her right back to her own floor, where I handed her into the care of Connie.
She was content with that, though at first as always she had demanded to be taken to my house.
I succeeded with my plan.