Driving the plane tree-canopied Roman roads of southern France with my parents last week, I noticed in my peripheral vision that my mom, sitting next to me in the back seat, was gripping the door handle.
Why the grip? I thought. She’s buckled in, there’s no one else on this road, Randall’s a safe driver, and we’re cruising this long, straight line.
Mid-thought, I realized I was gripping my door handle, too. Exactly like her.
I also saw my mom was chewing gum. (I dislike gum-chewing.)
And mid-thought, I realized I was mid-chawnk.
She’s so animated, I’d been noticing all week, and look at her whip up a conversation with any stranger. Like me, my kids say. And just like the way she used to call for us – operatically, throughout our little Utah neighborhood –– “Oh, Daaaaaltons! Come…
View original post 1,496 more words