We were taking the clothes out of the dryer again. She used to let me help because I liked to. As she stooped to retrieve our garments, she resembled a wilting flower. She was beautiful but she was beginning to droop a bit, no longer the robust mother I remembered. I couldn't remember when exactly she began to look so weathered. "You going to help me or not?" She clucked sharply. She didn't yell as much as she used to. She just liked to remind me she can. While folding the clothes, I glanced toward the paintings on the wall. She followed my eyes and quickly returned to her task. Her brow was furrowed, she just wanted to do the laundry. "Mommy, you ever going to paint again?" I asked. "I don't know. ...No time." She mumbled as she looked longingly at her artwork displayed on our wall. This time she stopped folding. She didn't want to fold anymore. She wanted to look at her pictures. Pictures of regal women, tropical paradises, and tranqu...
Rants, Raves, Reviews and Reflections... From A Lady With Lots Of Kinks In Her Thinking.