There is something in me that awakens when I am here. I am sitting in my garden. My boys are sleeping or almost. It is after 9pm. I am squinting from …
I have no image of myself as an old woman. I have guesses. My conjecture is based on everything I knew of my mother and little else. I am like one of those forensic artists who artificially ages suspects or victims. I imagine how my mom would be and how I hope to be at any age greater than 53. That’s when everything stopped. When the sun set.
Mystery breeds intrigue. I believe that. That was sort of my angle when I was a dater. At least I tried to be mysterious. Anyway. It is human nature to be curious about those things unfamiliar to us. I had occasion last night to realize how true this is, and how pivotal a concept that can be, and has been for me for some time now.