How old am I?
I peer inside myself, deep deep down, but really, the first shallow answer to that question is the same answer after I’ve dived into the well of my soul.
I am 482.
Perhaps older, but in our strange culture of age and the importance of youth, this number will suffice. Continue reading
The day begins with anticipation, which makes me chuckle.
Gone is the time when I looked forward to a young man arriving at the doorstep for a date. Now, I’m anxious for the arrival of a 7-year-old boy and hours of Uno and giggles.
Sure enough, 90 minutes into my grandson’s visit, the score is Madre 540, genius boy 35.
The winner is the one with the lowest score.
This kid is killing me, particularly as he rubs his hands before each new game and says gleefully, “The cards just love me, Madre,” with a shrug and a wink. Continue reading
roughwighting 