Yesterday it took a long time to get out of a meeting to drive home.  Moving air therapy was required, so I had the top down in the mid 80’s sunny weather.  As I pulled into the driveway, there was the familiar scene on the front porch: Mom sitting on one chair with her feet propped up, working her crossword puzzles with her afternoon martini.

I drive alongside the porch where I can look up from my little Miata, peer through the waning wisteria vine and over the porch wall.  She turns to look at me.

“I’d like a burger and…um…”  I look at a pretend menu over Mom’s head as she puts down her glasses.

“Well, uh, do you have root beer?” I begin more loudly.  “And I’d like a burger — make that with fries…” and I see her get it and laugh.

So I drive up to the end to park.  When I walk back down to the porch, hauling my bags, I pause on the steps. There’s her smile and pain.

“Oh Laura,” she blurts,”I was sitting here feeling sorry for myself and miserable — and you made me feel better.”

I hug her and sit down to hear about her day.  And we plan what will be easy for dinner.  Mostly I feel glad that I paused that moment in the drive to be goofy.

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