She’s 82 today. Black and white pictures don’t do her justice; she’s a colorful lady.
My 34-year-old self admires her. She gardens and cooks and entertains and shops and volunteers.
She’s spent her life investing in others and for that reason people really love her.
As a kid, she gave in to my every whim. Fritos and Coke for breakfast?
“Here you go, darling.”
She gracefully glides through her kitchen. She creates homemade feasts while making it look effortless. How is that possible?
She still moves quickly from here to there. She only slows down to care for those around her. She tenderly pushes her younger brother in a wheelchair down a hospital corridor. She fluffs and washes sheets of a new medical bed brought into her home last week for her husband.
But today, I hope she slows down long enough to giggle over silly Hallmark cards and friends and families out of tune happy birthday wishes. And I hope she indulges in a big piece of cake (that she made herself because that really is the best kind).