BOSSIER CITY -- The Horseshoe Casino has become part of an annual ritual. For about a month each summer, my mother trades the humidity and heat of Savannah, Ga., for the humidity and heat of Chauvin, La., where she stays in a suite my sister and brother-in-law have added to their house for her. She sits on the sofa with dogs Festus and Annabelle, watching "Gunsmoke." She helps my sister dust her collection of Beswick horses. They drive into Houma for manicures and pedicures. She sleeps late. She goes to lunch.

My brother-in-law, a ship's captain, cooks seafood most evenings. If the weather cooperates, he offers to take her by boat to Raccoon Island to see the flamingos that settled there after the last major hurricane swept across Florida.

My sister and brother-in-law would like her to stay there permanently. I don't think she will. There is too much waiting for her back in Savannah. She still works at the dollar store near her house. She has friends, routines, and people who for one reason or another depend on her.

My late sister's husband lives with her. The arrangement has complications, as most family arrangements do, but my mother has never been very good at quitting on people. Even if she's in Louisiana, she's apt to receive a text from the neighbor if her son-in-law forgets to shut the garage before going to bed.

Then, about a week before she's scheduled to fly back to Georgia, they drive her to Bossier City, where she lived for more than 20 years. It has become another ritual. She visits her friend Paula and my niece Nicole while the rest of us converge from different directions. Mom's sister Lois flies in from Georgia. My wife Karen and I drive from Little Rock. Somehow........

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