Stain-glass Eyes

Mom Alone With Her Thoughts Mom, Walking the Bugless Beach (MAN!  I hope I look that good at 87 years old!!) No matter where you’re from, no matter who you are, no matter how old you are, there is a sister, brother, mom, dad, son or daughter, you worry about.  Who have current issues with their health.  Who you can't imagine losing. I’m working at the Robot Store, on Liberty Street, in Ann Arbor, this morning.  I’m making myself write, to slow down the kaleidoscope my feelings are spinning.  Helplessness, fear, nostalgia, anxiety, love, anger and resignation, are all comforted by writing.   When I write, I feel more secure with reality.  I reset my feeling of gratitude.  The spinning colors stop. I’m able to point to each shape, with words. For me, defining these strong emotions is impossible, without a tool.  Words become my powerful tools to keep life in perspective. My mom experienced, what the doctors call, a mini stroke, recently. I was up north, visiting

The Upper Peninsula suits me fine, this time of year.  I love the cool weather, the windy days.  Any time I want to,  I can look up at formation after formation of grayish-white clouds in the sky.     Today I played the child’s game of finding pictures in clouds.  I saw a fuzzy bear.  I watched an old woman turn into a young child.  I even saw a kite floating in the wind, disappearing in seconds.  The game should be for grown-ups.  It makes a person let go.  The pictures keep changing so there’s no predicting.  No expectations.  No stress of any kind.  I suppose it could be used as an inkblot test of some sort.   I’m spending time with my mom.  Pretending I’m the Handy-Woman .  I do like to figure out how to make things easier to manage.  It comes with having to do things for myself. I spent two hours coming up with an easier way for Mom to lift her yard hose up, when she’s done with it.  I found a pulley in the basement, some pretty-colored rope in the shed, and went