5:30 A.M. "I GOT NEW Depends on, I'm good for the day," Grandma hollers, still lying in bed without her dentures, looking out the rear window at dawn breaking. "Hah! Toothless Vera sees the sun rise over the Columbia."

Tell me we have more to eat than Bran Flakes.

We cross the bridge into Astoria Astoria Astoria, Oregon, the landscape changing from forest to Scotch broom, me starting to feel a bit like the chauffeur. At Cannon Beach, we wheelchair out to Ecola Point, the most photographed spot on the Oregon coast, according to the chipper ranger.

"It is just unbelievable what we're seeing," Grandma says, gazing out at puffins and cormorants circling a smattering of sea stacks. "I bet you've never seen anything so beautiful."

The way she says it—looking up at me, tone rising—I almost think it's a question, one that might even lead to a conversation.

"It is beautiful," I say, "But then, the Himalayas are pretty spectacular, too." "See this purse?" Grandma replies, not rising to the bait. "I have my comb, scissors, keys, knitting needle, and lipstick in it. I got this purse in my first job. We went to a show one night and I left it behind …" She continues on about straw bales, a gentleman inviting her to dance, etc. I lose the point.

"What made you think of that?" I ask.

"My lipstick is in this purse," she says, digging it out to apply a new lacquer of red. I'm beginning to think I need a break.