1/28/18  From the perspective of sixty six years, I can see the effects of decisions I have made as I barreled through my life.  They are laid out before me;  some twisted and fried, some burnished and fine.  Some forgotten until this moment.  Some always kicking me in the teeth.  They make up the lopsided, globbed, frayed, singed, abstract,  but ever vibrant, used canvas of my life.  No perfectly woven silk tapestry for me.  I am no medieval lady.  Nor am I a cool, uber confident, vegan, save the world type.  I survive, to live another day.  To greet another morning.  To plant another iris, or rose bush, or vintage peony.  To eat another English muffin with butter and honey.   To wait with excitement to hear my daughter’s voice, and the voices of my Grands.  To see messages from my nieces and nephews – mostly my nieces, the boys are busy.  Mom knew boys were always busy.  She had five brothers, and four sons.  She always forgave whatever they did, boys being boys.

I love hearing from my four brothers.  They are an hysterical bunch; sharp witted, grossly humorous.  They can belch like few others, even now, when they are all over fifty.

My sisters are gone. One died much too early to my liking.  The other checked out, but living life as she would have it, and doing all right, I hear.  It’s all good.

So, where was I? Right…the pile of decisions I have made that have brought me here…   to be continued…