Mama is with me for the weekend. From the moment I told her good morning, she was in complaint mode and blame mode and self-pity mode. Ugh. We got through the morning and by afternoon I managed to get a real smile out of her. She helped me pick up sticks and pull weeds and felt useful and that is always a good thing.
I have my mama’s chubby knees. I also have her long torso and small waist and chocolate brown eyes. I could do without the chubby knees. I watch her and wonder what I will be like at her age. I very well may never make it to 89. Yet, I may make it to 99. That is the mystery of life. I hope I never hurt my children. I hope I can still smile. I hope I am able to find something, just one small something good about every day that I still have breath.
There were about 15 seconds in this day that I had the urge to flee. Mama had me in tears with a pounding headache and things at home were, well, they were typical of a holiday weekend at my house. Friends were house boating on the lake for the weekend and all of these things added up to a fleeting thought of (temporarily) running away from home. Thankfully, that was indeed fleeting. I would not do that, for so many reasons. A new one I have added to that list is being 60. Fleeing and losing it and going off to find oneself is something that 60 year-olds do. I will not succumb to that kind of stereotypicality.