The Whirl

I'm sitting on the couch with my daughter M and the man who loves me. She with her banjo. He with his guitar. We've had dinner--which was a pleasant flurry. TMWLM's train was delayed and we had to buy the bread and the sweet potatoes and the fish while my mom was at home alone starting her martini. So before the gin caught up with my mom we cooked on high speed.

Now my mom has come back out from her room in her pink flannel pajamas.  She loves music.  But her hearing aids are giving her trouble tonight. The man who loves me shrinks from none of this.  Earlier there was Tai Chi on the patio. She told him when she'd had enough. He connects with her. Doesn't patonize.

Now she's in the laundry room, just coming in from the side door from having a smoke. She's talking to my 18-yr-old cat. Don't cry, she says. Go to bed. I'm going to bed, too, she says.

I love my life.