I bring the package to a post office 20 minutes away from my hometown.
In my local post office, the clerks have no sense of humor. One town over, the postal clerks are much too officious, and one town away from them, the line is always too long and the lobby smells of old wet non-delivered letters.
I don’t want to be rushed or frowned on or holding my nose when I send a precious package to my mom. She lives seven hours away and misses me. My packages are one way for us to feel closer.
I sidle up to the “friendly” post office counter, trying to look relaxed and casual. “Do you think I’m being too optimistic?” I ask shyly, pushing my parcel in front of the male clerk. Continue reading
Close your eyes and think of your first school picture.
Do you remember how proud you were, sitting on that hard little stool, a dark blue or bland beige background behind you, everyone’s eyes on you as the photographer beseeches: SMILE!
When you view the photo weeks later, your parents oohing and ahhing, you wonder: is that what I look like? Continue reading
I consider taking a walk, but then I remember I need my crutches.
Not that I need the crutches. My leg is fine now. The break was clean; the cast inconvenient but a nice attention getter; the crutches cumbersome and ugly.
I would have liked to have thrown the tall rigid walking implements into the trash. Or at least recycled them for some other poor soul to use.
But, sagely, I left my un-needed crutches standing in the foyer, by the front door.
For just this kind of day. . . Continue reading
I’m on my way to see my mom this weekend, and taking little with me except some old albums.
When I visit her in late summer, she seems so less of what she used to be. Because of dementia, she can’t remember what I told her five minutes earlier, like “your clean clothes are in the drawer” or “dinner is in 45 minutes.”
Seconds after the conversation, my once bright, quick mom asks: “where are my clean socks?” and then “isn’t it time to walk down to the dining room?” Continue reading
As much as I’d like to come up with my own famous quote– like Shakespeare’s “to be or not to be,” I can’t find one in my writer’s creative basket for “the end.”
However, I can write an acrostic:
Either we continue on from whence we came, or
Nodding off to another level, we
Divine that the end was just the beginning. Continue reading