Trash Collector-Part 2

Standard

Walking outdoors is Mom’s main love. (Yes, I know, I encouraged the treadmill idea. She detests treadmills.) Her trash collecting mission branched off of her love for green and clean living. She is an original environmental protector at eighty-eight-years old.

On a mission one day, Mom fell into the gutter. Concrete gutter. Head first.

A couple driving past, saw her and stopped. They helped her up and offered to drive her home. Mom said no. Our address and my phone number are inside her walker, but went unnoticed and forgotten.

Mom arrived home with a bump on her head. She said she didn’t see any stars or pass out, just felt stupid. Well, I was relieved, but upset.

We related the incident to her doctor’s office. No damage, except a lump on her forehead. They instructed no more reaching and trash collecting for my eighty-seven-year-old. Mom is also supposed to walk only twenty minutes, instead of one hour. Sigh.

I took away her beloved trash collecting mission. I hid her metal reacher. Mom tries to sneak the garbage bags out. Just today, I found her with one at our front door. She actually pouted and stamped her foot when I said, “No, no, no. No more. Just look up instead of down, so you won’t see the trash.” Mom was mostly joking, when she had her tantrum.

It’s uncomfortable being my Mom’s mom.

 

Trash Collector-Part 1

Standard

For about one year, Mom was the neighborhood trash collector. She put on her hat and armed with her metal reacher, she executed her clean up mission in our apartment complex. Mom went as far as her legs and walker allowed. She eventually ventured into surrounding neighborhoods. I finally convinced her to stay near our complex only.

The community thanked her with notes left on bushes and often with a garbage bag tied to it. Neighbors even yelled out of the windows of their cars, “Thank you!”

By way of thanks, neighbors purchased cold slushes or coffees for Mom from the Human Bean coffee shop and gave them to her. Sometimes, when she walked near the shop, customers would hand her a drink.

Appreciation is lovely.

IMG_9081

 

 

Sisters Are Not Puppies

Standard

fullsizeoutput_2a7f

“L” is in the clouds with new baby sister “E” to kiss and hold. “Babies are so cute!”

“I think so too, I love babies.”

“I love her.”

“Me, too!”

“I thinks she loves me.”

‘I think you’re right. Baby E knows your voice.”

L nodded. “Inside Mommy’s tummy Baby E could hear us talking. That’s why E knows me. ”

“Yes, babies can hear through their mommies tummies.”

“Babies are so cute, it’s sad they grow up to be sisters.”

The adults laughed, assuming that she spoke of “I”, her middle sister.

I saw concern and sadness in L’s eyes. “It’s like puppies or kitties, we never want them to grow up.”

L nodded, “But they DO.”

“Yes, but the fun thing about baby sisters is that when they grow up, they can be your friends.”

L’s eyes widened and she smiled a big smile.

Sisters are forever.