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Ahh, my gentle snowflakes, I rise for a point of personal privilege. (If you do not understand, I highly recommend you join a group/organization which adheres to some form of Robert's Rules of Order.)
As I age, I have been making my father's noises. For quite some time now, I have been making, especially, his morning noises and, lately, I have added his middle of the night noises. More or less, I have gotten used to it. Sometimes a particular noise will startle me. Mostly though, I have grown to accept them--as just gentle reminders of my father. It could be worse, I could have received the gene that gave him that ski slope of a nose! Bad enough that from the genetic lottery I drew the jug-handle ears.
This morning, though, when I put on my socks--I saw my mother's feet.
Not long and elegant. Oh, no, not long and elegant. No, I saw feet with tendons ropy, toes boney, veins pronounced.
I do not like it. Do not like it one bit.
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Ha! I just yesterday cut open a seemingly empty plastic jar of mustard and scooped out what had to be at least 3/4 c. of mustard and put it in a container. Never thought I would see THAT day. (She grew up during the Depression.) Didn't bother me when I realized what I had just done. Just made me smile and miss my mom a little. : )
ReplyDeleteI took a head-shot photo of myself with my cell phone for my FB page and when I saw the result, was shocked. When did I start to look like my grandmother?
ReplyDeleteThank you, Judy & GG. You have made my life more bearable. I am not alone!
ReplyDelete